Once and Forever

by Constance O'Day-Flannery

  “The fare is not to your liking, Lady Margaret?”

  Startled, Maggie turned to Robert who was staring at her.

  “Oh, it’s… it is very good, thank you.” She jabbed a vegetable with the two-tined fork and popped it into her mouth. “Delicious,” she muttered between bites.

  Robert nodded and leaned in too close for comfort. “One would have to maintain a healthy appetite to heed such rapturous form,” he said with a low laugh.

  Was that supposed to be a compliment? Hmm… that one could go either way.

  He was staring intently at her mouth moving over the morsel. Great, Maggie sighed mentally. This is the last thing I need now, some arrogant admirer who thinks I’m someone I’m not coming on to me.

  Suddenly, she felt his hand grip her thigh. She swallowed and clenched her utensil. Stabbing him right then was an option, but she figured the small fork wouldn’t make much of a wound, and she had promised Countess Elthea she would exercise her womanly wiles for everyone else’s sake. She was a woman of her word.

  “The wine gives you more courage than courtesy…” she said quietly through her teeth, not believing the words tripped so easily from of her mouth, “…m’lord,” she added coyly with a smile, while firmly removing his hand from her leg.

  The silence after her words was deafening. At first, she was rather pleased she’d come back with such an appropriate response, but for a moment she was rethinking the possible repercussions of her comment and actions.

  Wait a second, what did she care? This was all some foolish charade carried on by a bunch of frustrated actors… she was asked to play along.

  He burst out laughing. “The lady is virtuous with wisdom and wit,” he stated loudly, backing off and raising his cup of wine toward the crowded room.

  She saw Countess Elthea glance over approvingly, as though to say she was pleased that Maggie’s performance was going so well.

  “I am to be married in less than a fortnight, good ladies and gentle men! Let us drink and dance in celebration of my coming union with the most beauteous Lady Margaret,” Robert announced boldly, turning toward Maggie with a great smile.

  She nearly rolled her eyes. This whole scene was really getting on her nerves. Her mind was a jumble as it raced with ideas on how to escape this insanity.

  “Hoorah!” the room cheered, and drank in unison. It was all she could do in the midst of this madness. She forced a weak smile and quickly looked toward Nicholas, who hadn’t yet raised his cup.

  It was as if he’d mentally called out to her. With deliberation he clutched his cup, raised it toward only her, and mouthed, “Remember…” his gaze intensifying as he brought the cup to his lips and drank fully.

  What did he mean by that? her mind questioned his message. “Remember…” what?

  The sound of Robert thumping his empty cup on the large wooden table jolted Maggie to tear her eyes away from Nicholas.

  “I am most pleased,” Robert nodded toward his cronies.

  She stifled a groan.

  “I know I’ll remember to pity the real Lady Margaret when she steps into this role,” Maggie muttered under her breath.

  “Minstrels, strike up a merry tune! I wish to dance with my betrothed!” Robert grandly gestured to the quartet as he stood and held his hand out toward her.

  Countess Elthea rose abruptly. “My lord, I fear my dear cousin Margaret may still be too weak to engage in such joyous activities this evening.”

  Maggie could tell Elthea was attempting to keep her from any further intimate involvement with Robert, who was by now becoming publicly intoxicated. Plus, not knowing Elizabethan dances, Maggie was saved from that embarrassment.

  “Quite right, my lady mother.” Robert motioned toward a servant to refill his cup. “What would thou suggest, my betrothed?” he slurred toward Maggie.

  Elthea quickly interjected, “By chance, has the Master Layton, my good friend and most excellent bard of prose and poetry, a recital to entertain us?” Countess Elthea inquired, looking at Nicholas with a sly smile.

  Maggie hoped he would quickly agree.

  Nicholas grinned boyishly and looked up from his finished meal. “Compliments are only lies in court clothes, m’lady,” he answered, beaming toward Elthea as though they were sharing a private joke. Rising, he added, “But thy words sing like sweet poetry to my senses.” He then bowed theatrically.

  From the corner of her eye she saw Robert slide down and slump against the back of his enormous chair. Must be the wine… her mental speculation was drowned out as a ripple of amusement went over the room.

  That would be the only reason Nick’s overacting didn’t seem to irritate her right now. In fact, she found herself smiling and internally giggled at the thought. It was almost endearing. And charming. Really. He was much too charming. She had the experience to know that artists were experts at using charm to their advantage. She’d fallen for it once before and thought it better not to finish the mental fantasy she was having when they first got to this insane asylum and she had him pinned against the wall, face-to-face, while her blood pumped wildly.

  Yeah, must be the wine, she thought with resignation, as a servant replenished her cup.

  Elthea waved for Nicholas to take the center of the hall. “The right is yours, kind Nicholas,” she said triumphantly, then looked toward Maggie.

  She appreciated the opportunity to mouth “Thank you” to Elthea with a sigh of relief for the save.

  As Nicholas limped slightly into the middle of the huge room, Maggie fidgeted to get comfortable in her chair. She was about to hear more of what this man who was attracting her attention was all about now. Elthea certainly thought highly of him, Maggie reminded herself, and she had begun to respect the woman’s opinions.

  “With thy permission, Lord Amesbury.” Nick bowed in a deep sweep toward the head table.

  “Recite what thou will, Layton,” Robert dismissed with another gulp of wine.

  Maggie sensed tension between the two men. She couldn’t understand why this guy Robert was so obviously agitated by Nick’s presence. It seemed to go beyond this realm of theatrics. Men. Things sure hadn’t changed much in the last four hundred years.

  “A poem of love,” Nicholas began.

  Chapter Ten

  Following his recital, the entire room was held in silence as Nicholas rose from his bow. With his back to the head table, he could see half the room of guests awaiting Lord Amesbury’s response before initiating their own typically subservient gestures.

  Maggie tore her gaze away from Nicholas to see Robert looking up from his whispered conversation with a man next to him as though he were surprised the recital was over.

  “Well spoken, Layton.” Robert clapped slowly. The room joined with hesitant applause.

  Ashamed for those in the room, Maggie slowly rose and began clapping more loudly. To hell with all of them and their fears of Robert. Her heart reached out to Nick, to be treated so poorly by his host.

  Nicholas leisurely turned around just as Maggie was blinking furiously to stop the tears.

  “I humbly thank you, m’lord,” he softly stated, not removing his eyes from her.

  Taking her seat, Maggie inhaled and hoped no one could see the dampness in her eyes as she regained her composure. Oh, he was good. Very good. Now she was beginning to understand why Elthea regarded him so highly. What woman wouldn’t? He was a man with a great depth of emotion. To whom were these incredible feelings directed? Was she assuming too much to believe it could have possibly been written for her? Such yearning. She knew she had felt a pull when he looked right at her while he recited, that same pull she had felt last night in her chamber. How terribly tragic that he could unfold his heart and bear it before all these people, but not to the one who had inspired such intense love. Or had he? And why did she want it to be her?

  The sound of Robert’s chair grating against the stone floor rammed through her dreamy preoccupation. He did not look pleased… especially with
her.

  “I pray thee all a good eve,” he abruptly announced as he pushed away from the table and rose. “I convene with my associates for immediate council and bid thee lords and ladies continued celebration.” He turned toward Maggie and offered a hand to take hers.

  Maggie’s eyes widened. Oh geez, am I supposed to leave with this guy? She began to worry as she apprehensively lifted her arm.

  “Till the morrow, Lady Margaret.” With disinterest he barely kissed her hand and turned away. Relieved, she watched as he crossed the hall directly toward Nick, who was still making his way back to his chair.

  Most all of the people in the room bowed as Robert walked by and ignored them. She saw Nick’s worried face glance up to hers as hushed words were exchanged between the two men. Nick quickly looked away and moved back to his seat.

  “Child, you look as though you are absolutely spent.”

  She felt Countess Elthea’s comforting hands on her shoulders.

  Without looking up, Maggie sighed, and responded, “Yes, Elthea, I’ve had enough of this play for the night. Is this our cue to exit, stage left?”

  Elthea grinned down at her. “Aye, dear Margaret. Your scene here is finished.”

  It really was seductive… all of it. The clothes. The manners. The people. The intrigue. The pampering. The woman who attended her was young and silent. She played the role of servant within this madness and, as she unlaced Maggie’s gown, Maggie asked over her shoulder. “Have you ever heard of a telephone, a credit card? An airplane? A television?”

  “M’lady?”

  Maggie turned around and was confronted with a person whose confusion was obvious. “You really don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

  The woman bowed slightly, not making eye contact. “I beg yer pardon, m’lady,” she answered in a shy, worried voice.

  “Never mind.” Maggie shook her head and turned back, allowing the woman to continue unlacing her. It was surreal. They all couldn’t be actors who played their parts so well that even at dinner not one had made a mistake, or flubbed a line. If anyone had messed up their role, it was she.

  She stepped out of the wide skirt and removed the heavy bodice before handing it to the woman. Taking a deep breath, she felt lighter without the weight of the gown and walked over to the bed. She sat on the edge of it and removed her shoes, shoes she reminded herself, that had been made in her time yet were reproductions that no one here seemed to think were out of place. How odd that she had been dressed in such a fashion so that outwardly she fit right in as being of noble birth. When she saw how tired the servingwoman was as she began to lay out the beautiful nightgown and robe, Maggie held her shoes in her hand and stood up.

  “What is your name?” she asked with a smile.

  The woman seemed startled and bowed, while lowering her head. “Gwen, m’lady. I beg your forgiveness if I have offended thee.”

  Walking closer, Maggie realized that had she not been dressed in such a beautiful gown when she’d encountered Nick, she might have found herself in a much more terrible situation. Much more… Compassion filled her heart, and she smiled. “Please rise, Gwen.”

  The woman slowly stood upright and raised her frightened gaze.

  “You have been wonderful to me since I awakened this morning,” Maggie stated, and took the sheer gown of white cotton from the woman’s arms. “You’ve been working all day and now you’re done. Go rest, Gwen. I can dress myself.”

  “But, m’lady…”

  “Hush. This is an order,” Maggie stated with another smile. “It’s late. Go to sleep, or visit with your friends or make love to your husband. I am quite fine alone.”

  “M’lady, I… I…” the woman stammered in astonishment, while an embarrassed blush appeared on her cheeks. “I am not a married woman.”

  Maggie chuckled. “I don’t know whether to extend my sympathies or congratulate you. Do whatever you wish, Gwen. And if anyone asks, you may tell them that Margaret of Norreys has given you permission this night to live your life however you choose.”

  “Oh, m’lady,” Gwen gushed as a smile spread over her face. “Bless you. May God grant you a long and happy life. You are an angel.”

  Maggie laughed. “Hmm… I know a few who would disagree, Gwen.” She waved her hand toward the door. “Now go, be happy.”

  Again, Gwen bowed. “Thank you, m’lady.” And then hurried to the door.

  Maggie’s heart felt lighter, and she figured that as long as she had this power she might as well use it for good. She had dressed herself since she was a child and didn’t need the constant attention. Plus, if she were honest with herself, she would admit that she was anxious to be alone. She wanted to replay the last part of the evening’s events, especially when Nick recited that poem Muted Heart.

  She would swear he’d been talking to her!

  As she removed the remaining underclothes, Maggie dreamily played back in her mind the scene, the way her body had felt as Nick stared into her eyes and played his lute, speaking of a love that could never be acknowledged. His words tore into her soul. Picking up the delicate night shift, embroidered with pale yellow flowers around the neckline and ruffled cuffs, Maggie again wondered what it would be like to kiss Nicholas Layton.

  She felt like a teenager, and mentally scolded herself as she placed the shift over her head and slipped into it. Here she was, a mature woman, dreaming about being kissed by a man who was totally wrong for her. Instead of such ridiculous mental wanderings she should be figuring out her escape tomorrow. Elthea had promised.

  She had done her part by playing Lady Margaret tonight, she thought, smoothing down the nightgown over her stomach and hips. The sensuous feel of the material against her bare skin brought thoughts of Nicholas, and she groaned. She’d known if she stayed she would be drawn further into their drama, and now here she was… craving the touch of him, the feel of him, the scent of him, the sound of his voice. Her fingers actually ached to ran through his silky hair. Grabbing up the robe Gwen had laid out for her, Maggie refused to allow her hormones to override her good sense. She didn’t belong here. She didn’t…

  She fastened the closings around her and walked over to the mirror. Elthea’s robe was almost as elaborate as a gown, with intricate gold embroidery in a subtle tapestry of vines and leaves on a deep green background. If anything could be said for this time, it would have to be the elaborate clothes, she thought… wishing that Nick could see her in this costume.

  She did it again! Why was it that everything she thought seemed to lead back to him?

  She would leave tomorrow, she vowed, and that would be the end of it. Almost as a punishment for slipping, Maggie tore the pins from her hair and began pulling her fingers through it as it fell to her shoulders. She was going to find her aunt tomorrow and somehow put this all behind her. No more daydreams about Nicholas Layton and what he might or might not think about her. As she pulled an ivory comb through her hair, Maggie almost welcomed the pain of tangles, for it took her mind away from Nick and his muted heart.

  What would his heart say, if it were not muted, she again wondered. As soon as she realized her thoughts, Maggie threw the comb onto the dressing table and began pacing.

  She was not going to allow this to happen to her. Of what use would it be to explore this path when she was leaving and would never see Nick again? None. Absolutely none. Stopping in front of the fire, Maggie stared into the flames as the thought refused to be denied.

  She would never see him again.

  Was she prepared to walk away from this attraction without ever finding out if it was returned? And what good would that do, if she did? It would only make leaving that much more difficult.

  A knock on the door stopped any further mental torture, and Maggie was grateful for the interruption. Elthea had promised to come to her chamber and continue their earlier discussion.

  Maggie opened the door to admit Elthea and Evan, the steward of the house. He was carrying a tray with a decan
ter, goblets, and fruit. Elthea smiled at Maggie and instructed Evan to place the tray on the small table before the fire.

  “Good eve, child,” Elthea said, touching Maggie’s arm. “I saw thy maid had been dismissed, and so I thought we might enjoy this last night together and I may fulfill my promise to answer all your queries.” She turned to the servant, and her smile warmed. “Thank you, Evan. Please stand guard in the hallway. If you are asked, merely say that it is my order as I attend the Lady Margaret, who is quite exhausted from this night’s activities.”

  “As you wish, m’lady.” Evan bowed and left the room.

  Maggie watched Elthea’s gaze follow the man and she would swear she saw something akin to love in the woman’s eyes. She then remembered Elthea’s reaction to Nick’s poem and wondered if the closeness she had observed between the lady of the manor and the steward might just be something more.

  “He’s a very nice man,” Maggie remarked, as the door to her chamber closed. “And he seems devoted to you.”

  Elthea sighed as she lowered herself to a chair and began pouring what looked like alcohol into goblets. “Evan and I grew up together since childhood. His mother served mine, and he was trained to run this home by his father. Here, child. Aqua vitae, a strong spirit to help thee sleep.” She handed a goblet to Maggie.

  Maggie brought it to her lips and inhaled the potent scent “What is it?”

  Elthea chuckled. “Truly, you are not familiar with our time. This is a brandywine, and I have not put anything into it as I have promised, so you may sit with me and not fear, Maggie Whitaker, that I have broken my word.”

  Sitting in the chair opposite Elthea, Maggie grinned. “You people sure do like to drink. I think everything I’ve tasted has something alcoholic in it, even the food.”