Ella turned so that she was facing Rowan.
“Rowan, you see this room we’re sitting in? Did you watch those very strange women who stood behind Greta when she was speaking? You see how they were dressed? The dull, scared look in their eyes? You ever seen anything like that in 2012?”
“If you’re going to try to convince me we’ve gone back in time, Ella,” Rowan said with a grin, “You have a long and very laborious row to hoe. I don’t know where this place is you’ve landed, but I do know it is 2012.” Rowan looked around the rough, and unfinished interior of the room. “Although that certainly was a very interesting story you told about the evil warlord in Heidelberg Castle. Would make an awesome HBO mini-series.”
“Fine,” Ella said, as she stood. “Come with me.” She led him out of the room, past the kitchen and down the narrow hall to her private cell. On the bed was a neatly stacked pile of men’s clothes.
“For this field trip, you’ll need to leave your piece in my room and put on the period clothing.” When he gave her a long-suffering look, she said, “Just do it, please.”
As he put on the peasant’s outfit, Ella picked up his cellphone.
“You still have power?” she asked.
“Yeah, but no bars,” he said, as he pulled on a stained pullover that was ripped on both sleeves. “Is this blood?”
“I think it belonged to the butcher’s son or something,” she said. She powered his phone off. “We’ll need to save the battery.”
She watched him standing in his peasant outfit. “Just get rid of the boots, and you’re good,” she said.
“I ain’t taking my boots off.”
“Peasants in 1620 rarely wore cowboy boots with their rags,” she said. “I don’t even have to look it up on Wikkipedia. Here, put these on.”
Rowan pulled off his boots and his socks and replaced them with a pair of simple leather shoes that Ella had handed him.
“Happy?”
“Oh, one last thing, Rowan, and this is very, very important,” she said, stopping him at the door with her hand on his chest. “You mustn’t speak. Not a word. Promise?”
“Fine. No speaking. Let’s go.”
As she led him out of the convent and into the town, Ella prayed they wouldn’t run into anyone dangerous.
An hour later, they were back in the convent kitchen. Rowan sat on one of the rough-hewn benches. He held a dirty rag to the blood pouring out of his nose. His eyes were darting around the room as if his thoughts were coming to fast to follow.
“He’ll take that brandy now, Greta,” Ella said when Greta came into the kitchen.
“He believes?” Greta asked.
“Oh, baby,” Ella said.
“What happened?”
“Nothing, really. We didn’t even make it all the way into town. Just walking down the lane is pretty convincing, you know? With all the animals and no office buildings or shops or anything. I had to keep telling him not to talk because he was starting to freak out.”
“How is it that he is bleeding?”
“Oh, you know that old guy at the end of the lane who’s always herding his goats?”
“He approached him?”
“No, goat guy took offense at Rowan staring and bopped him one. Rowan didn’t even try to defend himself.”
Greta took the dirty rag from Rowan. “It is a lot to take in,” she said. A novice came into the kitchen and Greta spoke to her in German. The girl left and returned with a brandy bottle and handed it to Greta.
Greta poured a large glass and gave it to Rowan.
“Drink this, Herr Pierce,” she said. “It won’t change the reality, but it will make it easier to accept.”
Rowan drank the brandy straight down and held the empty glass in his hand.
“How is this possible?” he said, more to himself than anyone else.
Later that morning, Ella and Rowan sat in a hidden courtyard of the convent garden.
“Greta has devised a brilliant cover for you,” Ella said.
Rowan didn’t speak.
“We’re going to give you a hoe and put you in the garden as the half-witted gardener from, well, I don’t remember that part. But you won’t have to speak and you can stare at people all you want. In fact, they’ll expect it.” She looked at him and bit her lip. “You, okay, Rowan?”
“I’m fine,” he said.
“Of course, you’re fine,” she said. “And why wouldn’t you be? Fly to Heidelberg to rescue your crazy MIA girlfriend and end up in the seventeenth century hiding out as a deaf mute convent gardener?”
Rowan ran his hands through his hair. “How is this possible?”
“I said those very words about a million times when I first got here. After the shock wears off, it’s just like, whatever. Sixteen twenty. Bring it.” She smiled encouragingly.
“Sixteen twenty,” Rowan said. “Shit.”
“I know,” said Ella. She leaned in and kissed him on his full lips. “But we’ve got a convent of damsels to rescue before we can go home, Marshal.”
“How sure are you that we’ll be able to leave?”
“I had no problem doing it yesterday or whenever it was that I went back to my apartment. Once our work here is done, we’ll go back.”
He wrapped his arms around her to kiss her again.
“Okay,” he said. “So let’s get this done so we can get gone. If my breakfast and the bathroom conditions are any indication, I can already tell you that 1620 sucks.”
First thing after lunch, Rowan went to the garden to hack away at the weeds and the dormant vegetable patch like he knew what he was doing. He worked for three hours, breaking a sweat in the cold, stopping frequently to stare out toward where the Heidelberg skyline should be. Twice, Ella came to bring him water or ale. Once, when she was walking toward him on the garden path, she watched him—the perfect picture of a seventeenth century peasant—pull out a cellphone to check the time.
“Rowan, give me that,” she said, holding her hand out to him as she walked. “That’s the kind of thing that can get you killed. What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking I’ve got blisters, I’m starving for something I don’t have to pick the bugs out of first, and I’d like to know if this hell of a day is nearly over so I can fall into that lovely bed with the straw and the roaches.”
“Need to work on the attitude, Marshal,” Ella said, handing him a dipper of water.
He took a long draught and wiped his mouth on his filthy sleeve. He squinted up at the darkening sky and then turned back to his work. “Water tastes like donkey piss,” he said. “And don’t say I’ll get used to it,” he called after her. “Men from these times beat their women for less.”
At bedtime, Rowan fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Ella took a bath down the hall and then curled up on the blanket pallet on the floor next to him. As she closed her eyes, she found herself thinking that just listening to his deep even breathing as he slept gave her hope and comfort for the future.
The next morning, he seemed better. When she woke, he was already awake and was watching her from the bed.
“I took your bed,” he said.
“I don’t mind,” she said. “You’ve got a lot on your mind.”
He didn’t answer for a moment. She got up from the cold floor and slipped into bed with him. The bed was so small she was in danger of falling out.
“I’m better today,” he said into her hair as he held her close. She reached between his legs and looked up into his brilliant blue eyes, now half-shut at the sensation of her touch.
“I can see that,” she whispered as she lifted herself up to straddle him. He groaned and held her rocking hips with his big warm hands, moving with her until she sat up straight on him and arched her back as the waves of pleasure welled up inside her. Later, when they both collapsed limp with spent lust on the bed, she stayed on top of him because there was no room for two in the bed. She lifted her veil of long hair that draped his face and kis
sed his lips.
“Good morning, lover,” she said.
“Good morning, beautiful,” he said, giving her bottom a squeeze. “I think I’m starting to get used to it.”
Both Rowan and Ella soon realized that, regardless of how the day started out, the day’s chores were no less onerous. At midday, after a frustrating morning of digging and throwing weeds onto a pile to be burned, Rowan came into the dining hall for lunch. Greta was already seated at the table. To her left was a rotund, squat priest, who sat studying his fingers on the table in front of him. Rowan sat down.
“Hello, Rollo,” Greta said, in keeping with Rowan’s new name. “A good morning, ja?”
Rowan looked at the priest and then at Greta. “Ja,” he said. While they waited, Ella and the other nuns and novices served them. She set down bowls of steaming broth in front of Rowan, Greta and the priest, then returned to the kitchen to fetch bread. Once the table had been completely furnished, she and the other women sat at the far end of the table. The little priest said the blessing and everyone ate.
The meal was somber and quiet. Rowan kept trying and failing to catch Ella’s eye. Eventually, he resigned himself to plowing through the bland meal before returning to work. Just before he was about to excuse himself, Greta addressed him.
“Remain seated, please, Rollo,” she said.
Beats the cold garden, he thought to himself.
Greta spoke to the priest and he stood up slowly. One of the nuns escorted the priest out of the room.
“What the hell was that all about?” Rowan asked as soon as the man was gone.
Ella began to clear the table.
“Ella, will you please join us?” Greta said.
Rowan saw Ella frown and realized that, for a change, she didn’t know everything that was going on around here. She sat down next to him.
Greta waited patiently for the novices to clear the table and then she turned to them and smiled.
“I must ask you both to do something for me.”
“Of course,” Ella said. “Name it.”
“I have difficulty speaking of these things. I hope you will forgive me.”
“Oh, crap,” Ella said. “We’re too loud in bed. Is that it?”
“I am so sorry, Ella,” Greta said. “I hope you will understand. We are a religious house.”
“Of course, of course. I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t even think. We’ll tone it down in future.”
“It is more than that, I’m afraid,” Greta said. Rowan could see that the usually cool and collected Greta was very uncomfortable having to discuss this topic with them. “A couple that is together in this way…”
“Greta, no problem. Really,” Ella said. “You want us to stay in separate rooms?”
“Not if it means you will not stay in separate rooms,” Greta said, looking embarrassed. “I hate to ask you to do this for me after you have already done so much.”
“It’s fine, Greta,” Rowan said. “If you’re asking what I think you’re asking. It’s fine.”
Ella looked from Greta to Rowan. “Did I miss something?”
Rowan turned to Ella and ran his hand down her arm. “This is not how I envisioned this moment—not that I ever envisioned this moment, you understand—but if we want to be together in this century, and I, for one, am not going to be able to keep my hands off you now that the genie’s outta the bottle, I reckon we need to make it legal. Heck, they probably cut your hands off for lesser offenses, huh, Greta?”
Relieved, Greta smiled, her eyes twinkling. “Or other extremities,” she said.
“Why, Mother Superior,” Rowan said, grinning at her. “You have a wicked sense of humor.”
Ella was dumbfounded. “You want us to get married,” she said. She looked at Greta and then Rowan.
“I am sorry, Ella,” Greta said. “It is not romantic, I know, but it is necessary if you and Herr Pierce will lie together while you are with us.”
Ella looked at Rowan and he merely smiled at her.
“Okay,” Ella said. “I guess we can do that.”
“You’re not already married, are you?” Rowan asked.
“Very funny,” Ella said. She turned to Greta. “Will it be legal when we go back to our own time?”
Rowan, who was in the process of getting up to fetch the priest, stopped. “Do you want it to be?” he asked.
“I cannot imagine that it would be legal in 2012,” Greta said. “It will have been performed four hundreds years earlier.” She called to the priest and spoke to him in German when he reentered the room.
I’m getting married, Ella thought, as the priest recited the ceremony. She took Rowan’s arm and he winked at her.
Later that night, as they snuggled in a new larger bed together, Ella was deliriously happy. A part of her tried to remind herself that it wasn’t real. The other part of her tried to assure herself that it was. She was Mrs. Rowan Pierce and even if they returned home and, God forbid, decided to go their separate ways, he would always know that his history included Ella Stevens as his wife. As his lawful 1620 wife.
“Thinking, wife?”
She looked at him and he was grinning.
“You’re enjoying this,” she said.
“Oh, yeah.”
“Most men, I’m told, are leery of commitment.”
“So you’re convinced this is legal?”
If he was teasing her, she wasn’t enjoying it. And if he was saying it wasn’t legal, she didn’t want to hear it.
“Oh, come on, baby,” he said, pulling her into his arms. “For better or worse we are married in this world. You are my wife. Here and now.”
“You’re right,” she said. “I am.”
Before responding, he kissed her on the mouth for a long moment. “We got a little business to take care of before we can consummate this here arrangement,” he said.
“What kind of business?”
“While the juices are flowing and all is right with our world, we need to have a quick think about how to handle this Krüger dipshit. Let’s just put our heads together and come up with some kind of direction before we call it a day.”
“I’ve tried, Rowan,” she said. “All I can see is us marching up to the front gates fully armed with our modern day arsenal and demanding the release of the novices and that Krüger cease and desist forthwith.”
“Yeah, okay, I don’t think the direct approach is where we want to go with this one, babe.” He yawned and Ella found herself hoping he wasn’t going to be too tired to make the marriage binding.
“Well, I’m totally blocked in that case,” she said.
“Okay, now, let’s look at it like a job. With police work, there’s usually a crime already committed and I’m looking for information specific to the murder, drug deal, or whatever. So normally I have an idea of what I’m looking for in advance. In this case, anything we find could be helpful.”
“You’re saying we should gather info first and come up with a plan when we see what we find?”
“Well, I guess I’m saying that we can create the crime or, in our case, the plan of attack based on whatever we find out. We can afford to be flexible.”
“That’s good, right? We’ll have more options depending on what we uncover.”
“Yeah, and since we’re on the side of good but not necessarily on the side of the law, we’re not limited by rules either.”
“I like how you think,” Ella said, snuggling up to him and feeling his warmth through her thin cotton nightgown. “Beats the heck out of storming the castle with a Taser and a pack of matches. Rowan, thank you.”
“Crap, Ella. What else am I gonna do? An asshole in 1620 ain’t that much different from one in 2012, trust me. These are nuns for Chrissake. I’m not gonna just stand by.”
“I really kind of love that about you.”
“Whoa, sister. Don’t be slinging the L word around. I can get skittish, you know.”
“You look pretty stable to me. But after we
do this—if we can do this—I’ve got a little bit of a situation back in 2012 to deal with.”
“And I’ll be first in line to help you do that,” he said, looking into her eyes, “But let’s focus on surviving sixteen twenty first.”
“Bet you never imagined those words coming out of your mouth.”
“You have no idea. And now what was that other matter we needed to deal with? Oh, yeah…” She held out her arms to him and he reached hungrily for his very willing bride.
The next day, Ella, Greta and Rowan cleared off the worktable in the kitchen so they could hammer out the details of their plan. A novice toasted bread and made weak dandelion tea for them as they worked through the morning.
“Okay, Greta,” Rowan said. “What’s the main thing about this Krüger guy?”
“The main thing?” Greta looked at Ella for clarification.
“The thing that makes him tick,” Ella explained. “The most important thing about him.”
Greta thought for a moment. “Well, he wants to be better known, or feared, than his father was,” she said.
“Okay,” Rowan said. He looked at her and tapped the table with a metal fork.
Ella could not get used to him without his cowboy hat. Dressed in peasant clothes, he just didn’t look like himself. He looked raw and basic. She realized she was blushing.
“Want to join the group, Ella?” Rowan said.
“Okay. Sorry. Well, for example, Mother, does he own anything that he prizes above all else?”
“It is known that he loves his eldest son, Axel,” Greta said. “He disdains his other son, Christof.”
“What would happen if we were to discredit Axel?” Rowan said. He rubbed his hands together as if warming to the idea.
“If Axel lost his favor? That is unimaginable,” Greta said.
“If he didn’t have Axel,” Rowan said, “would he make Christof his heir?”
“Christof’s the good guy,” Ella said to Rowan.
“I know,” he said. “Well, Mother Superior?”
“Krüger believes strongly in the lines of primogenitor,” she said slowly. “If Axel were killed or disgraced, he would hand over the castle and all its power to his next-born son. But it is impossible to damage Axel. With one who is so disgraceful already how do you diminish him in the eyes of a fellow monster?”
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