For the first time in her life she experienced claustrophobia.
She was trapped in fear.
“M’lady…” The child’s voice sounded farther away, as if in a tunnel. “Follow your heart.”
Confused, Maggie wondered if she really heard the kid or if it was merely her panicked mind playing tricks. Then something truly irrational happened, something that could not be explained. From all around her, every direction, she heard the child’s voice.
“Follow your heart, follow your heart, follow your heart…”
Spinning around and around as each command echoed in her head, Maggie experienced a sudden lightness, as if she no longer had to struggle against gravity and push herself away from the earth. It was as though she were on an elevator at the World Trade Center and headed downward. The tightness in her muscles eased, and as she felt herself floating… she looked up to the sky, and the clouds appeared so close that if only she had the strength, she might be able to touch them. Whatever was happening was controlling her, and she was so weary of struggling, struggling with her life, her mind, all of it… flashes of her ex-husband and the alimony, her failed job interviews, the bills, the aloneness swirled together. It was bigger, more powerful than she, and she felt herself weakening, surrendering to it. The hedges appeared to fade away, and Maggie instinctively knew she had to get out or possibly fade with them. Gathering her last essence of strength, she started running toward the break… toward the light.
Grabbing up the hem of the wide skirt, she ran for her life. That was what it felt like, as every muscle in her body moved in perfect symmetry. She felt like a sprinter, effortlessly moving over the ground. Time seemed frozen. Nothing existed in that moment, save escape, yet she was aware that the faster she ran, the more rapidly the hedges began to fade away, like particles of light disintegrating into nothingness. It was freeing. It felt as though she were in a dream. She had no idea what was happening as she raced away from the dissolving maze toward the light ahead of her. Her mind instantly argued that none of this made sense. Stuff like this only happens in the movies. None of it was possible, yet she didn’t care if she was losing her mind. She had to escape, and, through the light, she could see that the woods beyond were her only sanctuary. All she knew was that she must escape back to normalcy as she burst through the light and into the dense forest.
Miraculously, she was out.
Before she could even blink in relief, what could only be from the depths of a nightmare, a huge, hideous, yellow-toothed creature, with long black hair whipping back and forth through the air, appeared above her, screaming and frantically reaching out to tear her apart with long black arms. She screamed back in horror, and tried to move away from the monster. Catching her heel on the hem of her gown, Maggie felt herself going down. At once on the ground, she instinctively rolled over onto her stomach and covered her head. In any moment she expected death awaited her, as she would surely be crushed beneath the blows of this powerful creature.
“Thou fly-bitten, swag-bellied puttock!”
She was gasping for breath, inhaling the dust and dirt from under her mouth when she heard the angry yell that reverberated through the ground and rattled her already scrambled brain.
It spoke?
She dare not move, not even breathe. If this were a nightmare, and surely it couldn’t be anything else, she wasn’t about to add to the terror. This thing was directly on top of her as she could feel its hot, labored breathing on her neck. It was slavering around her head while snorting loudly, and she didn’t move a muscle, not even inhaling, though her lungs felt like they would explode as sheer terror raced through her body. She would wake up any moment, her mind screamed. She had to!
“Damnation!”
Wait a minute, if this thing can talk… drawing upon more courage than she thought she had left, Maggie slowly lifted her head, fully aware she could be savagely struck down by the horrible beast. Looking up, pure amazement came over her. She was staring into the big brown eyes of a horse.
A horse!
She heard moans and looked beyond the animal to see a body. A man, rolled on the side of a dirt path, was clutching his knee as more colorful curses flowed back to her.
“Spleeny, lousy-cockered jolt head! Aww… heavens above deliver me from this vile, impertinent, ill-natured lout!”
Maggie sat up and began scooting and bouncing along her bottom away from the heated animal. Pushing herself to her feet, she brushed dirt, twigs, and leaves from her hands and backside while calling out, “Are you okay?”
He seemed to freeze with her words. Animatedly, still clutching his knee, he rolled over to stare at her in bewilderment.
She cautiously walked around the horse, giving it a wide berth. “Sorry if I startled him,” she called, still brushing debris from her costume. Her brain was fried, yet somehow she had to gather whatever shreds of sanity remained and slow down the pounding of her heart. She kept her gaze on the horse and cautiously made her way to the man. “How badly are you hurt?” she called out over her shoulder.
The man didn’t answer, and she glanced in his direction. He was still staring at her, as though he’d lost his senses and, with one last warning glare at the horse, Maggie moved closer to the man.
Wow… that was her first thought.
Shoulder-length streaked blond hair framed a finely chiseled face. Eyes, large and of the lightest blue Maggie had ever seen, stared back at her, as though the man had seen a ghost. He was definitely an attractive, more than average, handsome man… okay, he was downright gorgeous, and she’d have to be dead not to acknowledge it. Since she was upright and breathing, she figured she was very much alive, and an instant attraction tingled through every muscle in her body, sending strong hormonal signals to each nerve ending.
“Are you all right?” she asked again, standing now a couple of feet away. Thrown by her reaction to the man, she nervously picked at more leaves sticking to the velvet of her skirt. “Can you get up?”
He appeared to recover and, through great effort, pushed himself upright while hobbling on his one good leg. Maggie wanted to reach out and help him, yet instinctively kept her hands at her sides. He wore dark brown breeches, a white shirt, ruffled and tied into a complex knot at his throat, and a deep green cape. A square-looking cap lay on the ground where he had fallen.
Gingerly testing his leg, he winced, took a deep breath, and bowed. “Good morrow, m’lady. I beg you forgive my slanderous outrages. Master Nicholas Lay-ton, humbly at thy service.”
Maggie, still not recovered herself, blew out her breath in frustration. “Nice to meet you, but really… considering the circumstances, I think you can forgo the formalities and drop the charade now, don’t you?” She was amazed that the man was continuing with the role-playing.
He glanced up at her with a quizzical expression before slowly standing upright again. “Charade, m’lady?” He winced in pain, hopping a few times to take the pressure off his knee, and added, “I fear thou hast me at a disadvantage.”
He looked so comical, she wanted to laugh. Instinct told her that too would not be appreciated. “What I mean is you’re hurt. All the ‘my lady’ this and that isn’t going to get you help. Just tell me where to go, and I’ll find someone who can.”
Shaking his head, as though not believing his own eyes and ears, he spoke again. “M’lady, it appears thou hast suffered thine own misfortune by the abominable actions of my steed. Why art thou astray in these woods? Perchance thou hast forgotten thy course?” he continued, eyeing her slowly up and down.
She was aware that her gown was a mess, and there were smudges of dirt on her hands and probably her face. With as much dignity as she could muster, she adjusted the snood and brushed a stray lock of hair away from her eyes. “Well, you see, I was in the maze and… and I guess I had an anxiety attack, or something. But I’m not hurt, you are. You can’t walk back to the faire like that.”
She waved her hand out to the thick forest. “Who runs
this thing? Where’s the manager’s office? Is there a first-aid station? I’m sure they can get you help, a… a wheelchair, or something. Just tell me what to do.”
A glazed look came upon him. His mouth, though very nicely shaped, hung open, and his eyes, though only moments ago she had thought them gorgeous, now seemed vacant, only adding to the expression of senselessness on his face.
“Hey! Are you okay?” she asked, peering intently at him.
He appeared to snap out of it, and cleared his throat with unease. “Prithee, allow me to assist thee in mounting, m’lady. Despite that which you have witnessed, verily I tell you, ’tis not indicative of this beast… he is a most gentle animal.”
Okay, he might be great-looking, but something was definitely wrong with the man. “Look, Nick… I’m not riding that horse! You’ve got to be kidding. In this get-up?” She grabbed at the wide heavy material of her skirt and almost shook it at him. “You’re the one who should be riding. I can help you up. You know, boost you up into the saddle and then you can ride back. I’ll just walk back to the faire and find my aunt.” She looked behind her to the woods and couldn’t see the maze. Twirling around, she saw thick forests on both sides of the dirt road. “Where’s the maze?”
“Maze?” He looked to the woods and then back at her as if she were the one making no sense.
Sighing, she placed one hand on her hip and stared at him. “The maze… remember? The Renaissance Festival? Did you hit your head when you fell?”
“Nay, only my knee has been injured. My mind functions most marvelously well. Perchance thou hast suffered some mental misfortune? Pray tell, a maze in the middle of a dense forest?” Bending down, he grabbed up his hat, dusted it off, and placed it on his head.
She would have laughed, except she could see this guy was really serious. “Look,” she tried again. “I think you’re a terrific worker, and I’ll be sure to tell whoever runs this faire that even in the midst of an accident you didn’t resort to modem speech, but we need to get you some medical attention, and I must find my relatives. I’m hot, hungry, and losing my patience. So… let’s just drop the acting for a moment, and I can either help you or you can give me some directions.”
“I am not an actor,” he stated indignantly, obviously insulted by her words. “I am the third son of the Earl of Traherne. I have been introduced at court and formally educated by the masters of Italy and France. Presently, I have been summoned by the house of Amesbury to Greville Manor, and ’twas there I was on my way before you darted from the woods and commenced howling at my horse… a shrieking woman who has yet to introduce herself, I might add, and now stands here to insult me.” He took a deep breath and straightened his back, tugging down on the cuffs of his sleeves. “An actor, I repeat, I am not.” He assumed an authoritative stance, going so far as to rest his injured leg to the ground, and fold his arms across his chest.
This time she had to bite the inside of her lip not to laugh out loud. He looked so funny, dressed in a costume and insisting he was not an actor. Everybody here was role-playing. And, of course, most were dressed like rich people, like him, the third son of the Earl of Something or other. At least when he was angered, he resorted to plainer speech.
She glanced at the horse and saw something that looked like a small guitar attached to his saddle. “Okay, you’re not an actor. Then you play music? Is that your job? You’re a musician?” Why this was so important to him, she had no idea, but she thought it could defuse the situation until they figured out what should be done with each other.
He lifted his square chin and looked down on her, as though he knew he wasn’t making a great impression and was trying to correct that. “I enjoy music.” Suddenly, he appeared to shake off whatever was bothering him, and commanded, “Who are you?”
Now she had to laugh. “Maggie. Margaret Whitaker.”
“Lady Margaret?” His face took on an expression of shock. “Your Ladyship.” He removed his cap, bowed lowly and continued with utmost courtesy, “I beg thy pardon. ’Tis an honor to stand before thee. Why art thou away in this wood? Thy presence was not expected until the week next. I am but a minstrel called upon by personal invitation of your esteemed aunt, the Countess Elthea. ’Twas she who implored I provide entertainment for your alliance to Lord Robert of Amesbury.”
“Sheesh, what script are you reading from? This is really going to an extreme. Get it through your head, I’m not playing along with your game. Can’t you just give it up?” Maggie demanded with irritation. “So… you’re a minstrel. That’s your gig here?”
“My gig? Pray tell… if anyone’s speech is most confounding, surely Your Ladyship must take ownership of that observation.”
Frustrated, Maggie waved her hands. “Okay, just forget it. Obviously, you aren’t that injured and can make your own way back. Just point me toward the parking lot. I’ve got to get out of here.”
“Parking lot? It is rightly known you are a visitor to your native England, having spent many years abroad, yet you are speaking with verbiage of which I have no knowledge.”
He was at it again. She stared at him and clenched her jaw. “Drop it!” she nearly yelled. “Can’t you knock off the role-playing for just a few moments? You Renaissance people are really weird, you know? What is it? You can’t deal with life today, so you slip back in time and get lost in your fantasies? Well, you can keep it. I find this overplayed Renaissance speech extremely annoying. All I want is to get the hell out of this dress and return to sanity.”
He was adjusting his cape and staring at her. “Remove thy dress? Lady Margaret, I have seen thee once at court, from afar I admit, but now you are possessed of a most distressful manner. Have you wandered afar, or come upon accident before thy arrival? You must return to the Greville Manor henceforth. Aye, I know there be highwaymen and poachers in this wood and—”
“Yeah, yeah,” she interrupted. “Villainous hedge-borne miscreants. I already heard about them when I arrived. How do I know you’re not one of them? I was told to beware the woods. What is a miscreant, anyway? I’m telling you, it’s impossible to communicate like this.”
“Your Ladyship, I would most honorably assist thee, if thou would but speak plainly.”
She stood her ground. It was becoming obvious the man must have whacked his skull. “Was that supposed to insult my intelligence? Just because I refuse to be drawn into this role-playing?”
“By admission, thou art a most beautiful and confusing woman yet… manners be damned, Your Ladyship. You are making it impossible to treat thee with civility. I was extending my respect, while you are making it quite clear respect is not what you desire.”
She sighed. What was wrong with this guy?
If she heard one more thee or thou, she was going to scream. She didn’t care if he looked like Sting in fantasy clothing. She didn’t care how polite he was, or that he had just called her beautiful.
He was weird.
Really, really weird….
Chapter Four
Maggie gathered what felt like her last shreds of patience and took a deep breath. “All right, Nick… let’s calm down and concentrate on the present situation. What do you want to do? I can walk, but it’s obvious you can’t. Can you mount your horse?”
He hobbled to the horse, grabbed hold of the saddle, and made a valiant attempt. It was more than obvious he couldn’t lift his injured left knee without great pain.
“Use the other leg,” she urged, clenching her fists together to stop herself from helping.
“I cannot mount with my right leg. I would then be riding backward, Your Ladyship,” he muttered with irritation as the horse danced in nervousness.
“Then use the other side. Turn the horse around. Want me to do it?”
“No!” his word resounded through the woods and Maggie froze. He drew in a deep breath and added, “With all due respect, Your Ladyship, this horse is not trained to allow mounting from the right. He will only spin circles should I attempt what thou s
uggests.”
“Well… I see only two options. You can throw yourself across its back and hang there like a sack, or ride backward. I’ll lead the horse, if you tell me which way to go.” There. That was as much as she could offer, considering she had caused the animal to throw him in the first place. “Make up your mind.”
He looked back over his shoulder to her and all traces of patience and civility, as he called it, seemed to have vanished. She couldn’t understand his attitude, since she was the one offering to help in spite of his reluctance to accept reality.
“I am not riding backward to Greville Manor. I would be the laughingstock of the entire court by week’s end.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head to one side. “You know, you really have an ego problem, Nick, besides taking your job way too seriously. Look, maybe all you have to do is mount backward. Once you’re on, I can hold the horse’s head down and then you could… like, spin around in the saddle.”
He turned at the waist, back to her. “M’lady, have you no sense at all? And have we been properly introduced that you should address me so informally? Has that memory completely vanished?”
She threw up her hands. “Okay, find your own way back. I was just trying to help, but if you’re too full of yourself to accept my offer, then stand here. I’m getting out. I’ll tell the first person I see to come back and find you.”
They stared at each other for what seemed like minutes of tension.
“So… which way do I walk?”
He didn’t answer her, just continued to gaze into her eyes with the strangest expression. It became uncomfortable, as though he were reaching inside of her and scanning her soul. Embarrassed at what he might find, Maggie shrugged, and said, “See ya, troubadour. I’m outta here.”
She walked away, holding her shoulders and chin high. She was not about to stand around in the damn woods and argue with a man who was lost in his own fantasies. She didn’t even care if he sang like Sting. He was nuts!
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