Rewind

by Liz Ann Hawkins

  “Then tonight, as I entered my room,”–I hesitated, but pulled the folded up parchment from my pocket anyway. I tentatively opened it up and handed it to Charles.–“I found this.” I felt his quick intake of breath as he realized what he saw. It was horrible. A crude, but very accurate portrait of me. Only I was lashed to a stake, and flames were shooting up around me. Underneath the drawing were the words: BURN WITCH. Definitely agitated, he leaped from the chair and began pacing in front of the fireplace.

  “Who would do this?” The anger in his voice was barely contained. I could see the muscles of his jaw working.

  “I don’t know,” I answered him softly. In truth, I felt so much better just having shared the whole thing with him, like a big weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I’d kept it to myself for so long, not even telling Leonardo. Of course, I didn’t suspect him for one second, just like I didn’t suspect Charles. But still.

  “Why did you not tell me sooner?” The full force of his anger hit me square on, and I stood to face him.

  “What good would it have done? I honestly thought if I just ignored it, it would all go away. I couldn’t think of a reason why someone would hate me that much, or have cause to call me a witch.” I watched his chest rise and fall as the fury seemed to course through him. I stepped forward, reached out, and placed my hand on his rapidly beating heart to calm it. He covered my hand with his. I looked up at him. My own heart skipped a beat when I saw the passion in his eyes. “I think I know now what would cause someone to hate me,” I hinted softly as I stood on tiptoe and gently kissed his mouth. I felt the tension leave his body as he pulled me closer and his lips glided over mine. I stroked his face. The stubble on his jaw tickled my palm. I let out a sigh. For a moment, all troubles were forgotten and it was just the two of us. In that moment, I could believe we were just two ordinary people, from no certain time or place, finding strength and comfort in one another.

  My hands caressed his bare shoulders and slid up to lock behind his neck. I forgot where we were, and that he was a prince of France. His hands on my back drew me closer, until we fit perfectly together like two lost pieces of a puzzle. The fact that I belonged in the 21st century completely escaped my mind. That’s all it took. One minute. Or maybe it was two. Or did time stop altogether? It was hard to tell. But the thump in my heart was undeniable. I was sure he felt it too. Oh, stupid heart. Why did you have to go and fall in love? Could my life be any more complicated right now?

  I pulled away and looked up into his eyes, framing his face with my hands.

  “You,” I breathed. “You are the only reason someone would hate me.”

  His eyes widened in shock. “Do you think we have been seen together?” he asked. “Have we not been careful?”

  “We have,” I agreed. “But maybe it’s the way I look at you, or you look at me?” I brushed the hair back that had fallen on his forehead, then took his hands in mine and led him back to the chair we had vacated. “I’ve been trying to think back to what happened during the day each time I’ve been threatened. The first one is obvious; it was the first time I really performed for the court. So right from the start someone didn’t want me here. But then, it seemed that anytime you and I were in each other’s company, that night I’d find a little ‘gift’ in my room. Which also made me wonder, the night of the stable fire…I don’t think that was an accident. I think someone saw us leave together.”

  He nodded his head, deep in thought. “You may be right. I suspected then, but I did not understand the reason why.”

  “Would it help if we made a list of possible suspects?” I asked, glancing over at his desk where ink sat near a pile of parchment.

  “Yes,” he began, “a list. Perhaps we can piece together this puzzle.” He got up, walked to his desk and sat down. He grabbed a shirt and pulled it over his head on the way. So inconsiderate, I sighed with disappointment. Oops, maybe I did that out loud, since he flashed that crooked, knowing smile my way again. The tease.

  He slid a clean piece of parchment in front of him and dipped the quill in ink. He tipped his head in my direction, “Perhaps we should start with those we are fairly certain are not out to send you to your death.” We both looked at each other and smiled. “Leonardo,” we said in unison, grinning stupidly. I scooted a chair next to him and we spent the next hour or so writing down names in two columns. Those we might suspect, and those we thought were most likely innocent. Unfortunately, Leonardo, Charles, the king, and the queen were about the only ones on the possible “innocent” list. I looked at the list of names under “suspects” and felt instant remorse at putting my new friends in that column.

  “I hate putting Nicole, Fleur, Chantal, Louise…,” sigh, “even Genevieve, on the suspect list. They’ve become my friends.” I heard the whine in my voice, but it was the truth. They had become my friends. Yet, I couldn’t deny the old saying keep your friends close and your enemies closer. They were the ones who were the closest to me and had access to my room.

  “I know,” he put my hand in his, turning it over and tracing circles in my palm. “But if jealousy is the motivator, it stands to reason that they are the number-one suspects.” I nodded my head, which was quickly becoming hypnotized with the sensations from my palm tingling up my arm and down my spine.

  “Still,” I cleared my throat, as it came out sounding a bit husky. “Fleur? She has to be the sweetest person in the world. And Nicole? She’s your cousin, not to mention one of the best friends I’ve ever had.” I honestly didn’t know how I would have made it this far in this century without Nicole. I was lucky to have a friend like her. It bothered me very much to see her name under the suspect list. Originally, I had put her on the innocent side, but Charles moved her over.

  “Sadly,” he confessed as he stopped the motion on my palm and bent over it to place a kiss in its center, “when it comes to royalty, one can never discount one’s family of wrongdoing.” That thought hadn’t occurred to me before. However, when I thought about history, that was certainly true enough. You could even go all the way back to Cain and Abel for such examples.

  “Come,” Charles said, pulling me to my feet and swiping his thumb across my brow. “You worry too much. Let me worry for you now, before this line,” he rubbed the spot between my eyebrows., “becomes permanent.” He had the nerve to chuckle. “I can see you are tired.”

  “I am,” I admitted, swatting his hand away from my worry lines. “I know I won’t be able to sleep in my room though. So I will go to the music room for the night.”

  Before I could even grasp his intentions, he lifted me into his arms and carried me over to his own bed, laying me gently on the mattress.

  “Charles!” I exclaimed in alarm, “I can’t stay here. This will only make it worse. People will talk.” I struggled to get up. It’s not that I didn’t want to stay. Here, I knew I was safe from anyone who wanted to harm me. But here, I was also far from safe from my own heart. The thought of leaving Charles to go back to my own time was getting harder and harder. This would only make it worse. There was something between us that I couldn’t explain. I felt completely drawn to him, as if we were connected.

  “Do not worry, my Izzy. You are safe with me.” He looked into my eyes and brushed the hair from my face. “I will sleep by the fire, and awaken in time to take you back to the music room. People will think you worked through the night for the festival.”

  “OK,” I relented sleepily, stifling a big yawn, “but will you just stay by me until I fall asleep?” I didn’t want to sound too needy, but I really did need the comfort only his arms could give. He settled the featherlight comforter around me, then lay beside me on top of the covers, pulling me to him and tucking my head under his chin. My hand lay on his chest. A sigh of contentment escaped my lips, and the picture of me surrounded by flames while tied to a stake that had been haunting the forefront of my mind was soon replaced by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

&n
bsp; Chapter 20

  A mist swirled right above the ground in the early morning as the cold air met the still warm ground. The leaves were starting to change and the nights were getting colder as Indian summer made way for fall. I wrapped a shawl around my shoulders and stepped from the kitchen door to get water from the well. The sun was just peeking through the trees, its rays of light slanting between the trunks and reaching the ground to make the mist sparkle. I loved watching the ground clouds swirl and settle again as I walked along the path. This had become a little morning ritual. I came out here to fill my water bottle myself. I liked the time alone, with the birds singing and the animals rustling about. At least at this time of the day I could see well enough to know if I were in any danger. Most of the castle was still sleeping. Well, not those in the servants’ quarters and the kitchens, but most everyone else. Though I could hear the people in camps around the castle waking up too. Kids made noises, dogs barked. All in all they were happy sounds and they made me smile.

  I took the bucket from the side of the well and hooked it onto the rope, dropping it down. Leaning over, I watched as it disappeared into the blackness below. I had no idea how deep the well was, but it seemed a long time before the bucket hit the water. The sound of the splash barely reached my strained ear at the top of the well. I waited for the bucket to fill and slowly began to pull it up with the rope, hand over fist, leaning over to grab the handle when it finally reached the top. My morning workout, I chuckled to myself. You would be surprised how cold water is from a well, I guess because it’s so far below the ground where heat never reaches it. And it’s deliciously refreshing! Wonder if I can talk mom and dad into drilling for a well when I get back, the thought crossed my mind as I poured the water from my bucket into my awesome, handmade, personal water container from Leonardo da Vinci, thank you very much. Wonder if I can bring this home with me too?

  Home. Thoughts of home kept popping up unbidden all the time now. Well, now that I knew I would hopefully be going there soon. The plan was that I’d disappear right after the competition, while everyone was still celebrating. The “Festival de la Musique” was only two days away. Or as I liked to refer to it, the “Festival of the Bachelor and the Idol.” It’s like the American Idol winner getting the rose and a marriage proposal from the Bachelor. I’m stuck in a 16th-century reality TV show. And I’m in love with the prize. It still made me mad the way the king and queen planned to marry off their own son by way of a music competition.

  I felt frustrated as usual whenever my thoughts turned to this. I set the bucket back on the side of the well and wandered into the grove of fruit trees to feel the sun on my face. I inhaled the fresh morning air as I looked up to the sky. Ahhhh, I’m going to miss this. The scent of the ripened apples filled the air around me, making my stomach growl. I found a perfect red one and plucked it from the tree. I sat down, leaned up against the trunk, and faced the rolling field that I knew led down to the Loire River. I took a big bite and thought of all the little things I would miss about this place. Never in a million years would I have expected I’d be able to survive in a place without all the comforts and conveniences I’d grown up with. Sure, I still missed a lot of those things–toilet paper and running water being at the top of that list. But really, what I missed most about home were the people. My parents. Our little family unit. My close friends. My music friends. Even my fans.

  I tilted my head as I continued to think along this line. In truth, what I’d miss most about this place is not really the fresh well water, the smell of freshly baking breads, the sparkle on the Loire when the sun hits the surface. Although I’ve really enjoyed those things, what I’d miss the most are the people. Maybe this was a deep life lesson I was supposed to learn or something, maybe surviving anywhere is near impossible without the people that surround you. And the music. Always the music. I believe that one is for my sanity. Without the music, I surely would have gone mad by now.

  Knowing I’d be leaving soon, I’d started writing about the people I’d come to know and love. I wrote in a leather bound journal that I hid in the library. I hoped it would stand the test of time and that someday, people like my parents would find it. I filled it up with stories about my friends: Nicole, Fleur, Chantal, Louise, and Genevieve. People never seemed to leave a history of women like these, ones who waited on the queen and hoped for an advantageous marriage by being in the court. I wrote about each one of them; what they looked like, what they loved to do, how they’d come to be amazing musicians. I filled in what I could about their families and where they came from. Hey, I was the daughter of historians after all. I knew what they’d want to learn about. And maybe, just maybe, their stories would live all the way to the 21st century. I hoped they would. Other notes and sketches I’d made while staying at the castle, I put in the book too. I had hesitated over writing about Charles. I didn’t know whether my being part of his life changed history. So I wrote very little about us, but the little doodles with hearts and our names intertwined throughout the book were pretty telling. I doodle when I think, and well, there were lots of slightly embarrassing doodles in that book. Oh well, who really knew what would become of it anyway?

  I finished my apple and threw the core into the woods for the birds to pick at. Pulling my knees up to my chest, I wrapped my arms around them and set my chin on top. I took in the scenery and thought of the night before. I had no idea what time Charles brought me back to my room each morning. After finding a pile of kindling and a coil of rope stacked nicely in the middle of my bed, he insisted I continue to sleep safety in his room under his watch. I was always shocked to find myself waking in my own bed, however. He was masterful at not waking me up. But then, my dad always said I could sleep through a fire truck blasting through my room, so I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. I’ll admit, I did sleep much better knowing Charles was nearby.

  Yesterday, I’d had a full day of rehearsing with the girls for our big performance. Everyone had their parts down, and the harmonies were almost perfect. We were working on some choreography now.

  This was not my strong suit at all. It didn’t have to be a crazy routine; we were still wearing confining corsets that prevented quite a bit of movement. On the other hand, I also thought it would be boring if we all just stood there singing and playing instruments. So we figured out a routine like we had used for “Somebody to Love,” simply moving around on the stage to match the rhythm of the song. I thought it was starting to look good, although it was hard to tell since we didn’t have a way to record it and play it back to see where we needed help. I tried to make sure that each of the girls was showcased in each song. I hoped they could see I was trying to make this a fair competition.

  They still knew nothing about the last number I was preparing. I had kept it a secret even from them. That wasn’t easy to do when you lived in a castle, which is more like a community than a home. This song would just Charles and me. I’d been told by the queen that we would be the last performers. So this would be the last song and truly the grand finale. I hoped my girls wouldn’t hate me for it. If they did, it wouldn’t really matter because I’d be leaving that night. I just hoped that even if I did win, one of them would be a “runner-up,” or however they termed it. I honestly didn’t want to think about losing to Spain. It was going to be hard enough leaving Charles behind, let alone with a Spanish wife, especially after he told me how he’d spent part of his childhood as a prisoner in Spain. He didn’t like to talk about it, so I didn’t ask. You bet I was going to look up that history when I got back.

  Every day this past week, he and I had found time to sneak away and practice at da Vinci’s. It wasn’t easy, and I was getting paranoid that people were noticing. So we’d decided to go to our favorite spot where we could practice without the fear of being found out, mostly because people were afraid of the ruins and the rumors of it being cursed. Even those visiting didn’t set up camp anywhere near it, just in case. Which worked out great for us.

  L
ast night, we had waited until we were sure everyone was asleep, then slipped out of the castle and escaped off to the ruins. I was tired, but happy to be secure in his arms while he directed the horse toward our favorite hiding place.The moon was bright. I looked up and thought, almost a full moon. Good thing too. I was tempted to use my iPhone flashlight to light up the stairs to the top of the bell tower. Nevertheless, the light from the moon and Charles’ hand in mine seemed sufficient. I still hadn’t told Charles the truth of where I was from. I had thought about it, and nearly did a hundred different times. Yet something held me back. I wasn’t sure why. If I were being perfectly honest with myself though, I knew it was because he would try to persuade me to stay. If he did that, I would.

  “Here we are,” he said as we reached the top and set our bags down. He took out some candles he brought so we’d have more than just moonlight. He lit them and placed them around the edges of the crumbling wall. I pulled out the lute and started to tune it. I handed it over to Charles when he came to sit next to me. I’d been teaching him to play, happy to learn that he’d already known the basics. I was also happy that he was a quick study. He was embarrassed at first, asserting that it was not an activity meant for a prince. I assured him all the courts were wrong if they thought so, because I couldn’t think of anything more swoon worthy than a prince strumming a guitar...sorry...lute, and singing to his beloved. Especially this prince. My prince. Sighhh. I had to stop thinking this way. I took out the second lute and tuned it as well. We both sat quietly strumming, deep in our own thoughts.

  I looked up at him and loved the way the light from the candles and the moon reflected on his face as he cocked his head to the side while he strummed. Once more, I wished I could sneak my phone out and snap a picture of him so I could take it with me. Instead, I just stored snapshots like this in my head so that I could look back on them and remember. I’m sure when I did, I’d feel shattered all over again for not being able to reach out and touch him. I shifted closer so that at least our knees were touching. “Ready?” I finally asked. We worked through the entire piece, splitting up the verses between us and deciding which ones we’d sing together in harmony.