Journey in Time (Knights in Time)

by Karlsen, Chris

  She unlaced and toed her short boots off and shed the quilt and cloak. She moved a chair in front of the fire and stretched her legs so her feet were only inches away. "When is the wedding, you never said?"

  "Day after tomorrow, nice and quick. I’m taking no chances, in case the king gets a wild hair up his bum and orders me to delay the marriage.” Alex dragged his chair to the fire and settled her feet in his lap, rubbing them between his warm hands. “What did you plan to do with Eclipse?"

  "I don’t have anything specific in mind yet. He's so magnificent with his shiny black coat and—ooh," she squealed. "You deliberately tickled my foot."

  "I'll find a use for Eclipse," he said behind a mischievous smile.

  His hands slid along the back of her calves, their touch as light as silk. He pulled her chair closer. Those magic hands moved further up and his fingers danced an erotic tattoo behind her knees. They continued to circle and swirl as he pushed her skirts out of the way and trailed his lips from her knee to her thigh. Shakira gripped the side of the chair and spread her legs wider in invitation.

  "What do you think darling, should I order us a bath?" His breath warmed her cool skin.

  She bounded from the chair and straddled him. One hand held his head steady as her marauding lips sought every bit of exposed flesh from brow to collar. The other hand fumbled but ultimately succeeded in undoing the drawstring of his hose. "I take it you want to postpone the bath."

  "You talk too much Mr. Lancaster."

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “I don’t see why you’re in such a tizzy about this,” Alex said. He’d have thought after their pleasant romp in bed and a hot bath she’d be pretty mellow. Guessed wrong there.

  "When were you going to tell me your sister was coming?"

  He’d sent a rider to his sister’s with the invitation before they left London. "What difference does it make?" Alex asked as Shakira crossed back and forth in front of him. "I wish you’d sit down. I feel like a Wimbledon judge."

  "When are they due?"

  "Midday tomorrow. Why are you upset?"

  She stopped pacing and brought her hands within inches of his throat and threatened him with strangulation. "Could you be denser? It's your family and I want to make a good impression. I could’ve worked on menus while we rode home, if I’d had some advance notice."

  "Everything will be fine. Richard’s handling the details." Alex snatched a handful of skirt and reeled Shakira in. "Don't worry, she'll adore you. Madeline’s been trying to marry me off for ages."

  "Does she know what I am to you?"

  "I doubt she's heard. Her husband, Hugh, has a small barony in Somerset. Neither goes to court often so gossip takes awhile to reach them. Regardless, my sister will be happy for me. She's not like those vipers at court."

  "Good, that makes me feel better."

  “Oh, there'll be one other guest I forgot to mention."

  Her grey eyes sharpened into raptorish slits. "Let me guess, the King of Prussia, or the Archbishop of Canterbury, perhaps?"

  "Such sauce." He hooked a chair with his foot and brought it over. "Sit."

  She plopped down. "Who?"

  "Basil."

  "Ooh, that reminds me," she said with sudden animation and perched on the edge of her seat. "I meant to ask you about him days ago. Jeez, there I was, beaten to a pulp, and who do I see but Miranda's husband. I thought I was delusional. Why didn’t you warn me about the strong resemblance between him and Ian?"

  "Once we saw our new selves, we didn’t dwell on each other’s looks afterward. That would fall into the realm of poofs."

  "Warning me about the similarity in their looks is not gay.”

  "You knew not to call Basil Ian, that’s the important part.

  "Back to the guest list, what about the rest of your family?"

  "There's only my mother. I sent word to her as a courtesy. But, she won’t leave the convent."

  "Is your mother a nun?"

  "No, she chooses to live with the holy sisters at Hailes Abbey, a few miles from here. After my father’s death, she withdrew into herself and retreated to the abbey. It was as though her spirit died with him. The vibrant woman I knew disappeared." He paused, remembering the mother he adored as she once was.

  "Are you all right?"

  "Yes. I was just wool gathering for a moment."

  Shakira didn't look fooled but let the matter drop. "What's your sister like?"

  "Sweetness and light in public, and half she-wolf, half dragon in private, if her blood is stirred." The corners of his mouth tipped in a wicked grin as he scratched at the week’s growth of beard. "I hoped she and Basil would marry. What a fiery match they’d have been. Madeline mooned over him from the time she was small. She showed her affection in a variety of irritating ways--irritating to Basil, highly amusing to the rest of us."

  "Like what?"

  "Eels in his boots when he was a squire, frogs in his saddle bags, that sort of thing. Very inventive, she did the Guiscard name proud. Overnight, she went from being a skinny little brat to a lovely young woman. Basil's attitude changed in a hurry."

  "Why didn’t they marry?"

  "By then, Hugh de Sable began to call and she lost her heart to him. You'll like her. She's full of sauce too. Let me shave and we'll have a look at the chapel."

  ***

  Shakira intended to investigate the interior of the chapel but never managed. She imagined it contained a crypt filled with generations of stone sarcophagi or tombs with Guiscard knights carved onto the lids.

  Alex unlocked the double-door entry and told her to wait while he lit the torches. A minute later he escorted her inside. He pointed to the lintel above the interior entryway with his family crest. There, carved in stone, a swan carried a banner in its mouth with the motto, Fortiter et Fideliter. "Boldly and faithfully," he translated.

  The modest chapel didn’t have a single old coffin, stone or otherwise, or even a vault. When she asked where his family was buried he pointed to a rear archway. He said his Norman ancestors had torn down a Saxon church. They had the plot of land over the spot consecrated for a cemetery.

  High windows of leaded glass shed some natural light onto the center aisle but allowed little elsewhere. The torches lit only their immediate areas.

  "The lighting is awful," she said. Larger churches had massive overhead fixtures with tiers of candles. This had none. "We need lots of stanchions with candles. Do you have enough?"

  "Don’t worry."

  "I trust you know."

  She walked around fascinated by the workmanship. Classic fluted pillars lined the nave up to the chancel. Stone statues of saints carved in intricate detail stood in the four corners. Fine, chiseled cuts delineated the hairs of their beards and the knuckles of their fingers were defined with realistic creases. A lacelike relief ran the length of the veined marble altar rails. She never expected such beauty in a family chapel. Impressive wooden plaques representing the Stations of the Cross hung on one wall. She gravitated to the elaborate relics inlaid with mother of pearl and gold leaf. The vibrant paint added depth and when observed from a few feet away appeared three dimensional.

  "Are these new or family heirlooms?”

  “Heirlooms handed down from my grandparents.”

  “They’re wonderful. Have you considered bringing them back with you, us?"

  "I'll be ecstatic if the two of us make it back.”

  "What happened to these?"

  "Cromwell's soldiers camped here during the Civil War. They burned them for fuel," he said flatly and walked away.

  "You can't leave them behind to get destroyed."

  “But, I am.”

  “Why? You should try to save them.”

  He turned. “Did it occur to you I don’t want them? They’re a memory I wish to forget.”

  “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

  "Do you think it’s easy for me? Easy to see all I grew up with again and knowing nothing will survive?” />
  She was quiet, letting him vent his anger and pain.

  “Do you think I can forget watching everything--everything of my family’s history destroyed?" He grabbed one plaque from the wall. "What Cromwell’s men couldn’t carry they killed or burned, goats, sheep, a litter of puppies.” He stared down at the treasure, rubbing the gilded border with his thumb. “Women...children,” he said, sad and low.

  "You dream about the attack don’t you? The first night we were here, you yelled in your sleep. You had a nightmare about the destruction of Elysian Fields, didn’t you?"

  "Yes."

  "Tell me the dream."

  A long moment passed before he shook his head and asked, "Would you hear the horror retold?"

  "Yes."

  Alex was quiet for so long she thought he decided against telling her. Then the details poured from him. He told her of how he walked behind the enemy lines, smelled the gunpowder, smelled death. He told her how ash and embers fell like rain and how his family home was reduced to rubble. He told her of the young mother and child hiding in the barn. At their mention, he went silent and his eyes fixed on that distant place.

  "Talk to me, Alex."

  "Cromwell’s men torched the barn. Mother and child crawled out under the haze of smoke. The soldiers were waiting. They’d seen them go in, you see, and thought to have some sport. They ripped the terrified toddler from the mother. One soldier dangled her at arm’s length in front of the mother while the other ran her through. Then they dragged the mother off. They ripped her gown off and took turns raping her. When the first two were done they called their companions over. She screamed for a long time. Finally, the cries turned to whimpers and then they stopped altogether. I could do nothing. Me, a knight, a warrior, condemned to watch, helpless, a shadow of the living man I was."

  The defeat and devastation in his eyes broke her heart.

  "I’m so sorry, Alex, so very sorry. But you can’t keep torturing yourself for something out of your control." She had an arsenal of words, none were sufficient to ease his painful memories.

  "This wasn’t some invading army. These were Englishmen committing atrocities on fellow countrymen and their families. Many unspeakable things are done in the name of war. I have done terrible things to other men, men who wished me dead. Never did I harm the defenseless." His vehemence grew with each declaration. "Never that. Neither Basil, nor I, allowed the knights, or men, who served us to brutalize women and children. Never. Plunder, oh yes, they pillaged and plundered. ‘To the victor go the spoils,’ as they say. This is a soldier’s reward."

  "You needn’t explain, not to me. I know your honor. What happened was horrible, but some must’ve escaped; you're here, in your descendant’s body."

  "A few made their way to Wales." He brushed the dust from the plaque with his sleeve and hung it up. For a long moment, he stared at the icon as though memorizing the sight of Jesus falling for the first time. Then, he looked down at her with eloquent hardness.

  "I still hear her screams. I hear them both."

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Shakira and Alex enjoyed the midday meal while they discussed the final details of the wedding. She wasn’t Catholic and clueless about how a wedding mass was conducted. She’d heard from friends it involved a lot of kneeling, standing, sitting, and repeating of whatever the priest instructed. They devised a simple system of signals to help her through the ceremony involving finger taps to the back of her hand. She asked about using Eclipse again. Alex said her request was being handled, but he refused to say more in spite of her prodding.

  Richard joined them and engaged Alex in whispered conversation that excluded Shakira. After a failed attempt to eavesdrop, she gave up and went back to nibbling at her meal. The cook’s daughter made the most delicious sheep’s milk cheese. Shakira slathered butter on a hunk of bread and stuffed a wedge of the cheese inside to help disguise the poor taste, which she still found borderline unacceptable. She wondered again why it was so grainy.

  "Milord, your sister has arrived," Jared announced.

  More nervous than excited, Shakira quickly brushed the crumbs from her dress. With her arm tucked tight through Alex's, they left the hall to greet Madeline and her husband, Hugh.

  "Please don't let her have heard I'm your penniless mistress," she muttered with crossed fingers.

  "I told you, she won’t judge you. You weren't this worried speaking before the whole court."

  "Only the king’s opinion truly mattered. The courtiers' opinions meant little to me. Your sister is someone special to you and therefore special to me. What she thinks matters."

  Alex stopped on the steps. “Look at me. You are my bride. Everyone, including my sister, should be doing their best to impress you."

  After introducing Shakira to Madeline and Hugh, Alex introduced their son, “my nephew, Geoffrey.”

  Geoffrey glanced up at his mother. Madeline waggled her fingers and he shuffled a few inches forward. With a locked chubby-fisted forearm to his waist, he bowed to Shakira.

  “Good tidings, milady.”

  Shakira curtsied in return. “Good tidings, to you.”

  The important little boy had inherited his father’s fair hair and rosebud cheeks. His height clearly came from Guiscard side of the family. Not quite four years old, he was tall as a five year old. Guy was 6’2 as is Alex. At 5’5, Madeline stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Hugh.

  But, it was his eyes that Shakira took the greatest notice of. She knelt on one knee so she was level with him. His eyes were the same shade of warm brown as his Madeline and Alex’s. Passed down for centuries, she marveled at the strength of genetics. Geoffrey’s descendent many generations in the future, the relative who gave Alex his second chance at life, also gave him these brown eyes.

  “What a handsome boy you are,” Shakira said.

  He smiled, scurried back and then buried his face in his mother’s skirts. Shakira imagined one day that smile would grow to look just like Alex’s.

  ***

  Shakira declined the seamstress's offer to make her a new gown in cream silk and velvet. Instead, she chose a vibrant red dress with the cuffs and hem embroidered in shimmery grey brocade. Guiscard colors. Whether Alex peeked or inquired from her maid about what she planned to wear, Shakira never knew. But on the morning of the ceremony, a crimson velvet band with a veil of silver netting woven fine and light as a spider’s web arrived.

  Richard walked her with slow dignity from the Keep to the chapel. Elegant as an oil painting, Alex’s scarlet tunic bore the swan device. On his boots, he wore the etched golden spurs she’d seen in his trunk, and at his side was his polished sword.

  He stepped down from the altar and met her halfway. “Milady,” he said, taking her from Richard’s arm.

  Gallantry sparkled in his eyes. In that gaze, she believed all things possible. The problems of their situation were forgotten. Whatever the future held, if she lived to be a hundred and couldn't remember her middle name, she'd remember how he looked at this moment. She'd forever have this magical moment.

  At the altar, he turned her toward the entry. Stephen, on Eclipse, led five more knights mounted on black horses into the chapel. Firelight bounced off their gleaming armor as each man lit a torch. In the glint, they were illuminated characters from a medieval manuscript come to life. Then, in a single motion, their mounts executed a perfect pirouette and rode out.

  "Oh, Alex," was all she said, struck by the magnificence of what he’d put together.

  The ceremony went on and on. Alex warned her. But God Almighty, this was waiting for an empty London cab in the rain long. Thanks to their secret code she knew what to do during the Latin Mass.

  It was time for the ring. There hadn't been a spare minute for Alex to obtain one. She hoped an old ring of his mother's might be around, although, she had her doubts about the fit.

  Alex slipped a perfectly fitted ring on her finger. The cabochon ruby set in gold with an intaglio of a swan was identical to h
is. She thought of the day he came to her office. His cufflinks bore the same design. Amazed, she stared at the ring and then up at her husband. Who was this man she had married? This man who was a blend of old world and new, who ordered a special ring, arranged for knights on horseback to perform, who made sure she had an enchanting veil to wear.

  He held her close and led her down the aisle to the waiting villagers. After what felt like hours of dispensing pennies, and wine, and meat pies, and tarts, they bid farewell to the crowd in the bailey.

  "I have one more surprise to show you before we go into the feast," he said, looking devilishly pleased with himself. "It’s in our chamber."

  "A honeymoon surprise...in our chamber..." Her eyes dropped to his manhood and up again. "You haven’t gotten yourself pierced, or tattooed, or something weird have you?"

  "The very idea is disgusting. If some perve came at me with a cock ring or tattoo needle in his hand, he’d best have a sword in the other."

  She laughed knowing he meant it. "Sorry, but my choices were limited. I thought we’ve explored most of your private chamber surprises."

  "Just come along, wife of mine."

  ***

  Alex went to the locked wooden trunk where he stored their modern clothes. She sat at the table as he dug through the chest. From the bottom, he removed a bundle covered in sheepskin and laid the parcel in front of her.

  "Open it."

  She untied the four corners and there protected by the fleecy underside lay two ornate pewter chalices.

  "My God, they’re extraordinary."

  Each had a famous legend sculpted onto the cup with jeweled accents. On the first, a knight fought a fierce dragon. Gold filament highlighted the flames that licked at the knight’s lance. Emeralds set off the monster’s eyes and inset in the stem was a ruby the size of the nail on her little finger.

  "Saint George?"

  Alex nodded.

  She set the goblet aside and picked up the second. A woman, head bent as in prayer, clasped a sword and rose from a body of water made of pave sapphires. Gold filaments highlighted the sword’s hilt and imbedded into the stem was a grey pearl. Shakira ran the tip of her fingers across the jeweled water, "The Lady of the Lake, from the Arthurian Legends?"