Journey in Time (Knights in Time)

by Karlsen, Chris

  What a moment earlier was a decent thing to do he questioned now. No debate. It was wrong. Alex hesitated.

  “Guy?”

  “Beware the black panther in a sea of orange.”

  Stephen gave a little shake of his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Black cat-orange field,” Alex said. Turning, he left the puzzled knight on the stairs behind him.

  ***

  Like centuries ago, a cold front hovered over the area. Fresh snowflakes swirled in the dawn wind and landed on Alex’s eyelashes as he stopped at the end of the drawbridge for one last view. Two barren trees stood at the entrance to the portcullis. A thin layer of ice from the early frost covered their branches. Their frozen limbs reflected the torchlight from the archway and sent sparklers of light in all directions. Behind the gates, in the bleak wintry morning, the butter-colored stone Keep looked like a warm jewel.

  Elysian Fields in her glory.

  Unable to linger any longer, Alex spurred Thor to the west and away.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Shakira kneeled by the toilet.

  "God, I wish I could help more." Kristen pressed a damp paper towel to Shakira's forehead. "What will you do?"

  "Throw-up again," Shakira said and she did.

  "I mean about the partners."

  "What can I do," she panted between bouts of sick. "I have to tell them, eventually."

  She stayed hunched over the bowl until her stomach stopped doing flip-flops. When she was certain the worst was over, she stood on wobbly legs and wiped her cheeks and mouth with the towel. The cool cloth soothed her flushed skin.

  "It's pretty amazing when you think about it. All the women Alex Lancaster has banged and you go off with him and bam, wind up preggers." Kristen sat so one hip rested on the edge of the sink. "Was it--deliberate?"

  “What do you mean?" Shakira asked, although the meaning was obvious. She bent to rinse out her mouth, avoiding an answer.

  "You're adults, and adults know how to prevent unwanted pregnancies." Kristen leaned closer. "Please, you've been gaga over him from the first. Who wouldn't be? He's hunky, charming, intelligent. What woman wouldn't want to procreate with him or at least try until you both fainted from dehydration?"

  Shakira wasn’t certain what the truth was. Had she subconsciously wanted to avoid discussing birth control with Alex? Had she used the trauma of their situation as an excuse to ignore other aspects, consequences, of their relationship?

  She'd read medieval women used various methods of birth control. Dodgy and unreliable as they were, she might've inquired about them, if she'd sincerely been interested.

  Kristen relaxed back, readjusting her weight on the sink's edge. The unanswered question hung in the air.

  "I guess I figured the odds were slim and didn't worry about it."

  The secretary's brows notched up a fraction.

  "Oh, I don't know. What do you want me to say? That, maybe deep down I kind of hoped it might happen. Maybe for the first time, I seriously considered having a child and wanted Alex to be my baby's father?"

  "I take it-" Kristen paused, "Things didn't work out since he hasn't called and you haven't mentioned him."

  Shakira appreciated the sympathy in Kristen’s tone. She meant well, but Shakira didn’t want the sentiment. It changed nothing.

  “For your sake, I had hoped he’d be different than his playboy image,” Kristen added.

  "He is."

  The sight of Alex dashing through the door at Dankworth's flashed in her mind. Merciless in dealing with Dankworth, he handled her with the utmost gentleness a moment later.

  She braced her hands along the sides of the sink next to the one Kristen occupied as the memories washed over her. Their short marriage allowed her the luxury of seeing the many facets of Alex's personality, not just the caricature so often presented by the gossip columns.

  Shakira wanted to confront every detractor with what she knew. "He can walk the ramparts observing what fortifications need work, handle a sword like he was born with one in his hand, he’s brave, and honorable..." Vision after vision came and went in no particular order.

  She fled the restroom rather than let Kristen or anyone who walked in see the raw emotions she struggled to keep in check.

  ***

  Behind Kristen, a stall door squeaked open. Judith, the longtime secretary to Mr. Wickersham, the senior partner, stepped out. Impeccable in her conservative tweed suit, the straight skirt's hem fell below the knee. Its loose cut combined with a boxy jacket so no feminine curves could be discerned. At her nape, a tightly wound chignon held fast and didn't allow for errant strands of brown or grey. The severity of the hairdo made her mannish, unplucked eyebrows, more pronounced. Humorless and unpleasant, Kristen referred to her as "arse face" and avoided the woman whenever possible.

  "I see our rising star, Ms. Constantine, has returned. I gather her affair with that Alex Lancaster person was rather short lived. Just long enough to get her pregnant, eh?" Judith said as she washed her hands.

  Kristen remained silent.

  Judith dried her hands and opened the door to leave, then stopped. "Did you know Mr. Wickersham disowned his daughter years ago?"

  "No, I’m not privy to that sort of information."

  The dour secretary eased the door to an almost closed position. "Oh, I'm sure he wouldn't mind my telling you. While attending university his daughter became embroiled in a tawdry romance with a local boy." Judith pursed her lipstick-less lips. "A chef, as I recall. She secretly moved in with him. When Mr. Wickersham found out, he disinherited her. They haven’t spoken since."

  "Why--because the young man was a chef and not some razor-tongued, privileged lawyer?"

  "No--because only a whore spreads her legs for a man who isn't her husband."

  "Are you going to tell Wickersham about the pregnancy?"

  Judith shrugged.

  “For once in your life, show some compassion,” Kristen said. “Shakira’s never done you harm.”

  “Good day, Kristen,” Judith said with a thin smile and left.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Alex shivered in his heavy cloak and made himself a promise. If he ever got back to the twenty-first century, two weeks on the hot sand of some island would be a top priority. He pictured the white sand beach of Antigua and imagined the sun heating his skin. The warmer the better.

  The last cold front had moved east towards the English Channel, taking the snow flurries with it. The fickle new front produced a bitter and biting wind.

  A gust whipped his legs as he dismounted by the outcropping. From the first week, he stayed as long as his stamina allowed him to endure the weather. Each day, he forced himself to tolerate the conditions longer than the day before. Walking, moving, not letting the chill leech into his bones was the key. Today, instead of tethering Thor, he led him in circles around the stone. The movement helped them both stay warm and eased the boredom.

  Horse and rider's boundaries widened each visit until only the shrubbery hindered further expansion. Thor tossed his head hard, nearly jerking the reins from Alex's hand.

  "Whoa, steady boy." He eased the horse's head downward with an even hand. "You're all right," he said and stroked the horse's neck. The animal's muscles relaxed, but his nostrils remained flared, alert to the scents around him.

  "What's upsetting you?" Alex scanned the surroundings for the cause of Thor's agitation. The tip of something brass peeked out from the base of the bush by his right front hoof.

  "Not another one of Simon's curiosities," Alex grumbled. He picked the tube up and held it under the horse's muzzle and let him smell. After a moment of intense sniffing and ear twitching, Thor snorted then turned his head away.

  Alex drew back, ready to pitch the cylinder into the woods but didn’t. He tossed Thor's reins over his withers and rolled the tube between his fingers. He turned to the intaglio. He could make out the letter G. but only the partial loop of the first letter remained. The re
st had chipped away. Alex ran his thumbnail under the thick edge of wax, giving in to curiosity about the mysterious sender. He attempted to prise the seal from the metal. A chunk broke off but not enough. Alex twisted as he pulled on the top piece, breaking the seal.

  Thor whinnied and bumped Alex's shoulder with his muzzle. A white flash streaked across the sky and caught Alex’s eye. No odd pink or red within sight. The fact he looked for the change in color made him smile, in spite of his resentful feelings toward Shakira. A low rumble from menacing black clouds grew in intensity, the sound continuing without interruption. January weather rarely allowed for rain--snow and icy sleet yes, and frigid days too cold to snow, yes, lightning and rain, no.

  He dropped the cylinder and mounted, spurring Thor to urge him away from the trees. A rebellious Thor reared. Ears pinned, he spun and crow-hopped to within a few feet of the rock. Smaller bursts of lightning fractured off a larger bolt that touched down close. Alex grabbed onto the saddle pommel as sense of weightlessness and vertigo swept over him.

  The sensation only lasted a few seconds, like the first time he’d experienced the same thing. Unlike the first time, the landscape had changed. On guard, Alex surveyed the lush foliage that was barren a minute earlier. Around him, early fall wildflowers bloomed and only a hint of orange touched the leaves of the trees.

  "Incredible. I believe we might be home, old boy," Alex whispered and absently patted Thor, "I don't know what time we are in, but it sure isn't the winter of 1355."

  Restrained and cautious, he started toward his modern day cottage at a snail's pace, keeping a close watch on his surroundings. The area's history was riddled with violent conflicts. It wouldn't be wise to gallop off only to find himself in the middle of some ancient bloody melee.

  For the same reason, he chose not to ride to Elysian Fields. Without knowing the status of the castle or the state of affairs, the risk outweighed the benefit.

  At last his cottage came into view and Alex blew out a long sigh of relief at the sight of his car in the drive. He cued Thor into a gallop. He’d stop first at Owen's lodge and see if the groundskeeper had seen Shakira. Alex fought an internal war over his motive for asking and convinced himself it was nothing more than normal concern.

  ***

  Alex demanded Owen produce proof of the date, disbelieving only a several weeks had passed since he’d gone back in time.

  "Sir?" Owen cocked his head and took the pocket calendar a confused Alex handed back to him. "Is everything all right?"

  "Yes, I'm fine, everything is fine, thanks," Alex said, snapping out of his daze. "I've put Thor in his stall. Please see he gets an extra portion of grain for the next few days?" Still, Alex didn't move from the groundskeeper's doorstep. "I noticed Eclipse is back. When did La--Shakira return him?"

  "About a month ago."

  "Did you speak with her?"

  "Briefly, sir." Owen looked concerned and said, "If you don't mind me saying, she seemed upset, sort of scattered. As she was alone, I figured the two of you quarreled and I stayed away from your cottage. I thought you'd prefer privacy, if that was the case."

  "Thank you, I appreciate it."

  When the bad feelings occasionally subsided, unspeakable fear troubled Alex since Shakira disappeared. Until now, he guessed she returned to this century, but he couldn't be sure. The fear usually came late at night when he wished for nothing but sleep. Instead, he tormented himself with the question, what if she ended up in another time, a worse time, with no one to help her. Now that he could let go of the worries, only the pain remained.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Purple circles darkened the skin beneath Shakira’s lower lashes and accentuated the red rims of her puffy eyes. Worry and fitful sleep had taken a toll on her appearance.

  “Old Mother Hubbard had more in her cupboard than you. Are you eating?” Miranda closed the fridge and poured two coffees.

  “I throw-up everything I eat, so what’s the point?”

  "Have you tried to talk to him in person?" Miranda set a cup of steamy coffee in front of Shakira.

  "No. I'm not groveling for his attention." She resigned to keep her pride intact no matter how much Alex's indifference hurt.

  "You're telling him he’s going to be a father. That's not groveling. Are you positive he's received your notes?"

  Shakira pulled her most recent letter to Alex from her purse with "refused" written across the front. She tossed the envelope across the table.

  "Alex's secretary might have written that automatically. I imagine he gets solicited by hundreds of bands," Miranda said.

  "Nice try. But, I sent this to his house by overnight mail with my name is on the return line. He's made no effort to call or visit me."

  "Perhaps, you're reading too much into his silence."

  "Perhaps the earth is flat," Shakira said, dryly and blew on the coffee. "You haven't told Ian about the baby have you? You promised you wouldn't."

  "No, but I dislike keeping secrets from my husband.”

  "I know. For now, just please don't tell him. I’d like to get my ducks in a row first."

  She said it without knowing what ‘getting her ducks in a row’ entailed. The situation with Alex had her so confused.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, resting her head on her palm. "Why am I getting the cold shoulder?"

  "You’re not totally frozen out. He never dismissed you as his attorney."

  "But he doesn't communicate with me either. I sent him the details of the plaintiff’s agreement. You'd think that would've got a reaction."

  Miranda looked surprised. "They're withdrawing the lawsuit for heaven's sake. He should be ecstatic. You’d think he’d at least send flowers or some kind of thank you to your office."

  "I got a basic letter of appreciation signed by his secretary on his behalf."

  "You never told me, what made them withdraw the suit?"

  "Our investigation revealed the alleged victim conspired with her boyfriend to file the false claim, hoping for an out of court settlement. She'd alleged sexual harassment and filed actions against her last two employers. They’d paid her off rather than suffer the bad publicity. We could establish a pattern of behavior and crucify her in court."

  The information was a double edged sword for Shakira. On one hand, she'd won the case for Alex. The plaintiff agreed to pay all legal fees and publicly recant. On the other hand, with the demise of the claim, she lost an opportunity to compel Alex to meet with her.

  "I can't believe he'd be so callous," Shakira said.

  Miranda reached over and laid her hand on Shakira's. "I'm sorry. I don't have any pearls of wisdom to offer you, no special insight. I wish I did."

  "Thanks."

  "Please, let me go to Alex and tell him about the baby."

  "Absolutely not."

  “At least let Ian talk to him about why he’s ignoring you.”

  “No. This is between Alex and me. The next move is his. I'm through jumping through hoops." Grief shifted to anger. "I don't need him to raise this baby."

  "You can't do that. It's his child."

  "I made every effort to tell him. Apparently, he wants nothing to do with either of us."

  "Sha--"

  Shakira cut her off. "Forget it! I'm done," she said with a sweeping motion across her throat.

  Miranda shot her an irritated glance. "Can I finish?"

  "If you must."

  "He hasn’t come round to the house. It's possible he's been sick. Who knows, maybe he picked up some bug and brought it back, health conditions not being sterling in those days."

  "Don’t move." Shakira got up, went into the drawing room and returned with the latest issue of Hello magazine. "Have you read this?" She thrust the book in front of Miranda’s face.

  "No. Why?"

  With unerring accuracy, she turned to a specific page and handed the magazine to Miranda. At the top of the page was a picture of an elegant looking Alex and an unidentified female at the ope
ning of a West End musical. He flashed a bright, in the peak of health, smile for the cameras. His palm rode low on the hip of a curvaceous blonde in a relentlessly sexy, black dress. Pouty-lipped, petite, and buxom, everything Shakira wasn’t.

  Shakira held herself and rocked gently side-to-side, remembering things better forgotten. Like, how those hands felt on her skin, hands that now fondled the stunning woman in the photograph. Rough palms, calloused from sword practice that caressed her so exquisitely. Hands that cradled her head in an embrace and cupped her face for a determined kiss. She took a deep breath and shook off her nostalgia.

  "One picture doesn't mean anything. For all you know, this might be an arranged date for publicity purposes," Miranda said.

  Shakira snorted. "I guess his hand on her ass is there to lend an element of legitimacy to the date."

  Miranda spread her arms in a what can I say gesture. "Changing the subject, do your co-workers know you're pregnant?"

  "Only Kristen, I dread the day when the others hear. They'll drive me nuts asking who the father is. I certainly can’t tell them. The tabloids would know in a hot New York minute. I don't think Alex or anyone needs to learn dramatic news through those shabby sources.

  "Besides, I thought to put it off as long as possible. I'm a bit concerned about the senior partners. They’re pretty puritanical."

  "You just won a big case and all your other clients are satisfied. You've got nothing to worry about," Miranda said, closing the magazine.

  ***

  Shakira returned from her ritual morning visit to the bathroom. By her calculations, she guessed her pregnancy was in either the sixth or seventh week. Every day she woke and crossed her fingers the sickness would've subsided, without success.

  "Mr. Wickersham wants to see you straight-away," Kristen said as Shakira stepped back into the office.

  "Did Judith say what it's regarding?"

  Head down, Kristen took sudden interest in a stack of paperwork. "No."

  "Do I need to bring any files with me?"