Lancashire, England, 1581
SOMETHING WAS POKING INTO MY BACK. I must have fallen asleep on my cell phone or keys. I rolled onto my side, toward the early light filtering through the open windows. It sounded like every bird in the neighborhood had roosted in my room. Shivering, I reached down to pull my blanket up, but … there was no blanket. No wonder I was freezing.
When I opened my eyes, Stephen Langford was leaning over me, staring into my face. I screamed, and he covered my mouth with his hand. “Hush! We must not be discovered.”
I nodded and he removed his hand. Gradually I woke up enough to realize we were outside, in a forest so thick that light barely penetrated. He must have driven me here, probably in my own car. Memories of last night began surfacing, and I recalled a creepy discussion involving Shakespeare, as though he was alive and we had to rescue him from something. And another thing. “Did you call me a wench?”
The corner of his mouth quirked. “I did. Pray forgive me. Allow me to help you sit up.”
I had to get away from this guy. Jumping to my feet, I decided to make a run for it. And immediately fell. Luckily, the ground was covered with leaves, so I didn’t really hurt myself. When I tried to get up, my head spun and my arms and legs wouldn’t move properly. Like they weren’t receiving signals from my brain.
“I warned you.” I could have sworn he snickered, right before he stooped down and, in one fluid movement, lifted me up as if I weighed nothing. Last night he’d picked me up too, but I couldn’t remember what happened afterward. Stephen glanced around and finally set me down with my back against a towering oak. “Drink some water,” he said, nodding toward my backpack.
“How considerate of you to have brought it,” I said, smirking. I snatched my water bottle and drank. He’d abducted me and dragged me off to this godforsaken forest. But why?
We rested in silence for a few minutes, Stephen watching me the whole time. “You changed your clothes,” I said. He’d replaced the fancy doublet with a leather one, and his boots appeared worn, more like work or riding boots.
“Aye.”
When he didn’t say anything else, I rose cautiously and crept forward, testing my neurons. They seemed to be firing normally. I moved more confidently now, right to the edge of the trees. What I glimpsed through the drooping branches blew my mind. I was looking at a massive stone building, with gates and archways and flags fluttering in the breeze. To complete the picture, an intimidating-looking stone tower kept watch near the front of the house. Or castle. Or whatever it was.
I raced back to Stephen. “Tell me where we are. Right now, or I’ll start screaming.”
“We’re in Lancashire, England.”
“Sure we are,” I said. “I wish you’d quit saying such outrageous things.”
“The year is 1581. The time of the danger to Shakespeare.”
“Stephen, you’re delusional. Did you bring me here, wherever we are, for one of those reenactment events? Why didn’t you just ask me? And, by the way, where’s my car?”
He laughed. “I do not have your car, Miranda. Let me explain.”
“You kidnapped me! I’m calling 911.” I fished in my pocket and pulled out my phone.
Stephen reached out and stopped me. “It will not work in this century.”
I batted his hand away. “Whatever.” Phone in one hand, backpack in the other, I hurried away from Stephen and his castle. Even though I could see there was no signal, I pressed 911 over and over. It must be this forest. No reception here.
“Come back, Miranda!” Stephen called. “Do not be a fool!”
I ignored him and kept walking. I’d have to get to the nearest town, where I could call Macy to come and pick me up. I heard footsteps shuffling over the leaf-covered ground and knew Stephen was following me, so I stayed on the lookout for a sturdy branch. If I surprised him … I didn’t want to hurt him, only stun him long enough to get away. It wasn’t like he was a serial killer or anything. Only weird. Then I spotted just the thing—a fallen limb with a rounded end. Dropping to the ground, I pretended to give up. Meanwhile, I grasped my weapon with both hands and waited.
Behind me, Stephen said, “It is much too dangerous for you to strike out on your own. Look at the way you’re dressed. You could be arrested for a witch. Mayhap you would end up in the stocks, or worse.”
I leaped to my feet, spun around, and swung, catching Stephen on the side of his head. Eyes filled with shock and alarm, he staggered for a second and then dropped to the ground.
Tossing the branch aside, I ran, cutting diagonally through the trees. Dear God, what if I killed him? Once, when I turned to check behind me, my foot snagged on a root and I went down. Stephen was nowhere in sight. I flew up and kept going. Before long a road came into view, but it was only a driveway leading to the manor house.
I raced on, at last reaching the real road. After taking a moment to catch my breath and get my bearings, I looked back toward the house and woods and saw no movement, no one running after me or shouting my name. This place, wherever it was, seemed completely isolated, about as far from civilization as you could get. And the road was nothing but a dirt track, barely wide enough for a small SUV. I grabbed my cell phone and once again tried dialing 911. Still no signal.
And then I heard voices. A couple of men, both short and stocky, were walking toward me. Tweedledum and Tweedledee. Dressed in brown wool doublets and dirty hose, they were leading a two-wheeled oxcart. Oh, great. Reenactors. Where on earth did they find an ox?
Since I didn’t see anybody else around, they’d have to do. “Help!” I called, waving my arms. I could smell the pungent stink of the ox. It was massive, broad and as tall as the men. They stopped beside me, and up close, I saw that one was much older than the other. So maybe father and son instead of twins.
They studied me with puzzled looks. The older one said, “Good morrow, mistress.”
“Uh, good morning to you too. Can you give me a ride to town?”
After glancing at each other, the same man asked, “From whence have you come, mistress? Your manner of speaking is odd.”
“I’m from Boston.” I couldn’t quite place their accents either. Maybe Irish? “I have no idea where I am, and I can’t get a signal on my cell phone. Can you guys help me?”
They stepped aside, like they had to consult with each other before making such a momentous decision. While they talked, I glanced up the road toward the house. No Stephen in sight. After a minute, the older man again turned to me, looking a little wary.
“Mistress, ’tis strange garments you wear. Is this the style of dress in your village?”
“Okay, you can drop the reenactor stuff,” I said, not even trying to conceal my irritation. “Some guy who mistakenly thought I wanted to participate dragged me out here. I’m trying to get home. I have to be in a play tonight.”
“You are a player?” the younger one asked, looking horrified. “But females are not permitted to act on the stage.” Again, the two of them locked eyes before looking back at me.
The one who seemed to be the spokesman said, “I cannot account for your behavior, mistress. Mayhap the cunning woman in town can see to what ails you.” While he was speaking, I marched up to the cart. Maybe I could ride in it instead of walking. Just as I approached, he shot me what I clearly should have recognized as a warning glance.
“We will escort you, though you will have to walk. The cart carries the body of a friend dead of plague.”
Too late. I’d already leaned my elbows on the rim and was peering in. Although the sickening smell nearly knocked me backward, something held me there. Probably morbid curiosity. A shrouded body lay wedged into the bottom of the cart. The cloth had come loose around the head and neck, and I could see it was the body of a man. His wide-open eyes stared out from a bloated face, and his tongue protruded hideously from his mouth. A purplish lump bulged from one side of his neck, and I flinched involuntarily. My own personal Night of the Living Dead. I half expect
ed him to rise up and attack me. This can’t be.… We don’t move dead bodies around in carts pulled by oxen in the twenty-first century. We just don’t. My stomach heaved.
I took a giant step backward and smacked right into Stephen.
“Good men, well met!” he said, ignoring me.
“There’s a dead person in that cart!” I turned toward him and barely got the words out before my stomach heaved again and I threw up all over his chest.
Stephen leaped away from me. “God’s breath, Miranda!” He pulled out a handkerchief and brushed at the clumps of vomit covering his doublet.
“You know this young woman, sir?” the older guy asked.
“Aye, ’tis my misfortune.” He fired a wicked glance my way. “She is our servant, recently arrived from the New World and with many strange ways about her—she is often quarrelsome and peevish. A good flogging will put her in her place.”
I felt my blood pressure rise. “That is absolutely—” I broke off when Stephen’s look registered. It was a “let me handle this” kind of look. I fumbled in my pocket for a tissue and wiped my mouth.
“If it please you, I shall take her off your hands,” Stephen said.
He grasped my arm, and when I tried to wrench free, he dug his fingers in. Hard.
“Ouch!”
“Good day to you, then,” the older guy said, looking perplexed. He and his friend resumed the slow journey with their gruesome cargo, walking alongside the mammoth ox and urging him on with a stick.
“Excellent stroke with the cudgel,” Stephen said. “But only a superficial wound.”
“I should have hit you harder,” I hissed. “I wish I’d killed you!”
He half dragged me off the road and down an embankment. At the bottom, a stream rippled past, and we stopped beside it. After giving me a warning glance, Stephen let go of my arm, and I plopped down on the ground. He stooped and dipped a cloth in the water. When he removed his hat, I gasped. I’d really done a job on his head. He dabbed at the wound and then rinsed out the cloth. Walking over to me, he held it out and said, “Wipe your face with this. The cool water will revive you.”
I buried my face in the cloth and wished I could wake up from this nightmare. After a minute, I found my water bottle and rinsed out my mouth. I still felt slightly sick and light-headed, topped off with a rising sense of panic.
Stephen unfastened his doublet and dunked it in the stream, letting the flow of the water get rid of the rest of the mess. Then he squatted down on the ground in front of me, again with that fluidity of movement. His knees didn’t even crack.
“You’re in Lancashire, in the north of England, in the year 1581. Accustom yourself to the idea.” His eyes held a fierce gleam, and his voice was hard. I decided not to argue. “If you have any more doubts after that little encounter, perhaps I can allay them by taking you into the village and letting the good citizens make of you what they will. Make no mistake, you would end up in a prison cell by day’s end.” He kept his harsh glare trained on me. “Now listen carefully.
“We have been invited to visit Alexander Hoghton and his wife, and you will pass yourself off as their niece. My sister. I am, you see, their nephew. They’ve just employed young Will Shakespeare as schoolmaster, player, and musician.” He spoke in short, clipped sentences, and I didn’t dare interrupt him.
“Also in residence is a Jesuit priest. He wishes to claim Shakespeare for the priesthood. For obvious reasons, we cannot allow that to happen. Not only would his work be lost to history, but his very life may also be at risk.”
He was talking so fast it was dizzying. Maybe my incredible trip through time was fogging my mind. I massaged my forehead, then cut off Stephen’s “you will obey me” speech. “Wait a minute. We know Shakespeare became the world’s greatest playwright. His work wasn’t lost, and he lived into his fifties. Freakin’ ancient. So what’s the problem?”
“You would do well to trust me on this, mistress,” came the sharp response.
“Ha! I should trust you, the man who kidnapped me and dragged me back to a different century? I don’t think so.”
“You do not have a choice, do you? In this time, I am your only friend and ally.”
I wanted to smack that smug look off his face. “Pardon me if I have trouble seeing you that way.”
He turned his back on me and put some distance between us. For the longest time he stood there, hands on hips, as if he was thinking something over. Maybe I should try to run again, while he isn’t paying attention. But I knew he was right. In this century, I could end up in a jail cell if the wrong people found me. I didn’t exactly fit in. And there was no way I could get home without him.
He had swiveled around and was talking to me again. “All you need to know at present is that events in history may not always unfold the way in which they were meant to. It is my job to see that they do. For my sins.”
He was completely serious. The intense gleam in his eyes proved it. “So you’re like a time warden or something?”
“That’s as good a way as any of describing it, I suppose.”
“I still don’t really get it.”
“It is not necessary for you to understand everything right now. As we progress, I’ll explain further.”
“Let’s say I actually believe you. Which I’m still not sure I do. What does all this have to do with me, anyway?” I flung my arms out to make sure he grasped the true level of my frustration.
“Your mission is to save Shakespeare from this foolishness. Convince him the life of a Jesuit brother is not one he wants.”
“And how would I do that?”
“You’re going to seduce him,” Stephen said with a perfectly straight face.
I SHOT TO MY FEET. “You’re out of your mind!” I glowered at him, because now I could see amusement barely hiding itself in Stephen’s eyes. “You got me here. Now get me back!” I lobbed the wet cloth at him, and to my extreme satisfaction, it hit him in the chest.
“I couldn’t send you back, even if I wanted to,” he said, juggling the cloth. “Certain limitations and restrictions exist. Even when conditions are ideal, it doesn’t always work. Perhaps after your mission is complete, the time will be right for your return.”
“What do you mean, ‘perhaps’? There’s a chance I could be stuck here?”
“Only a slim one.”
“Perfect.” I turned my back on him and howled with frustration. After a few seconds, I whirled around and said, “The seduction thing. That’s my mission?” I figured I’d better play along. If this wasn’t a reenactment, I had to be caught up in a joke, a dream, or a major misunderstanding. Shakespeare’s work was a done deal, as far as I was concerned.
Stephen’s lips quivered. “Yes.”
Anger, outrage, even bashing him on the head hadn’t worked. Maybe I needed a change of tactics. “Please, Stephen.” I reached for his hand. “I’m scared. I want to go home.”
“Your life in Boston seems to be on hold.”
I dropped his hand. “What do you know about my life?” My temper flared again when I realized that he was changing tactics too. Jerk.
“I know how things stand between you and your mother.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“And that you’re thinking about giving up acting. A serious mistake, in my opinion.”
“It’s none of your business. You don’t even know me! We barely had a conversation before last night.”
Scowling, he said, “God save me from your prattle. You talk too much, mistress. I’ll explain the rest later. Right now, we need to get on with it.”
Crossing my arms, I leaned against the nearest tree to think things over. Stephen, cursing under his breath, walked away and kicked a pile of leaves before circling back. Unbelievable as it seemed, I had to admit that my instincts, as well as all my senses, were screaming the truth of my situation. I’d been transported to William Shakespeare’s time. How could this have happened to me? Gradually it dawned
on me that I had a bargaining chip.
Stephen was holding the cloth against his wound, watching me.
“All right. I’ll do the seduction thing, although there’s no guarantee it will work. But only if you show me how to get back.”
“That’s out of the question,” he protested. “ ’Tis done by a powerful magic which you do not possess.”
“And you do, I suppose.”
“Aye, and I cannot bestow it upon you. Trust me; you wouldn’t want it.”
For a moment he looked exhausted, like maybe this powerful magic was wearing him down. And there was an indefinable sadness in his eyes, along with something else. Vulnerability. But I couldn’t allow it to sway me, because this was my life we were talking about.
“Fine. You can’t force me to seduce someone. I’ll make myself so undesirable, Shakespeare won’t come near me. In fact, I’ll encourage him by telling him I’m thinking of becoming a nun.”
“I was right,” Stephen said. “You are peevish and quarrelsome, much like Katherine. And we don’t have nuns in England anymore.” He turned his back to me, muttered to himself, and then spun around and said, “What if I promise to get you home safely when this is done? Swear to you?”
“How do I know you won’t change your mind? And I’m nothing like Katherine, by the way.”
He smirked. “I swear by our Lord to do everything in my power to get you back unharmed. That is a binding oath, the best I can offer.”
“That’s not good enough. What if I got stranded here in this plague-infested time, when the king—”
“Queen.”
“Right, queen. When she can chop off your head or throw you in the tower for no reason? And there’re plenty of other diseases besides plague to worry about, like smallpox and typhoid and leprosy, and no cures for anything. You can’t even get a flu shot, for God’s sake!”
Stephen snorted. “Calm yourself, Miranda. There’s no leprosy in England anymore. And you have immunity to most diseases, do you not? Because of vaccines?”
“I guess so,” I grudgingly admitted.
Kissing Shakespeare Page 2