The Gift of Time

by Tora Williams

  He took another step, but she pulled back. “There has to be another way. What if they’re after your livestock because they’re hungry? You should try talking to them.”

  He clenched his jaw. “They’re here to fight, not for a friendly game of merels. Don’t interfere in things you don’t understand.”

  “But I do understand.” She broke free from his hold and whirled to face him. “You’re afraid to look weak. Bound up by your father’s expectations. But no one who knows you would ever call you weak. You’re strong because you care, and your people respect you for that. So arm yourself and go to meet the raiders. But trust in yourself. Do what you believe to be right.

  ****

  Ralph gestured to an over-enthusiastic lad to keep his head down. The waiting was always the worst part of a battle. Once the action started there was no time to think, but at times like now, watching signs of the raiders’ approach drawing ever nearer, he couldn’t help running all possible outcomes through his mind. Some scenarios had him winning a glorious victory; in others he was forced to watch men under his command die a grisly death. All cases ended with Katherine turning her back on him.

  Trust in yourself. Do what you believe to be right. But what was that? His father would fight. No question. Make a statement to show the consequences of crossing the Lord of Whitwell.

  You’re afraid to look weak. Bound up by your father’s expectations. He’d inherited Whitwell at fifteen, so it was only natural he should look to his father’s example. But that was ten years ago. Now, while he still admired his father, he had to admit he’d made mistakes. Not the least of which being the drain on Whitwell’s resources to fund his crusade. His father had impressed upon him the need to appear strong. It was why he’d always fought back when raiders arrived. Retaliated.

  But maybe Katherine was right. Maybe there was another way. After all, following his father’s example hadn’t stopped the raids.

  “My lord,” the knight nearest to him hissed, “they’re nearly here.”

  Ralph jerked his gaze back to the trees. His stomach tightened. There they were, at the eaves of the wood, not bothering to find concealment now. His initial estimate had been about right: there were nineteen men in the group. Although he wouldn’t describe them all as men: about half were no more than lads of fourteen or fifteen. All were bedraggled, tunics hanging loose.

  Do what you believe to be right.

  It would be wrong to kill starving men and boys. Maybe his father wouldn’t have hesitated, but he was not his father.

  He rose from the dip where he’d arranged his forces and took a step forward.

  His knight tried to pull him down. “My lord, they have bows.”

  “They won’t shoot me. They’re hungry. They might try to ransom me, but they won’t kill me.” He took another step forward, and the rest of his men scrambled to their feet, filling the air with the clink of mail. “Stay back. Don’t attack unless I order it.”

  “But my lord—”

  “Do as I say.”

  He sheathed his sword and strode across the field.

  ****

  “Come and sit down, dear. Wearing yourself out won’t make the waiting any easier.”

  Kat shook her head and resumed her pacing in front of the solar fire. She crossed her arms and winced at the rub of wool against her torn palms, even through the soothing poultice and bandaging Ralph’s mother had applied. A thought struck, and she glanced at Eleanor. She must have had many similar waits in her time. “Does anything help?”

  Eleanor shook her head. “Not really. I just try and stay occupied. And pray for his safe return.”

  “How do you bear it?”

  “I have no choice. It would be far worse not to have someone to worry about.”

  And that was exactly why she couldn’t stay. Much as she longed to stay with Ralph, help him build Whitwell, she couldn’t do what Eleanor did. Couldn’t sit at home and worry every time he went out.

  Shouts rang out in the courtyard below. Kat dashed to the window, Eleanor not far behind. She peered through the thick panes, but the view was so distorted, she couldn’t make out more than vague shapes and movement. Voices rang out, chanting and laughing, bringing to mind fans returning from a football match.

  “What do you see?” Eleanor stood on tiptoe, trying to see over Kat’s shoulder. “Is Ralph back?”

  The solar door burst open. Ralph himself strode in and flung his cloak over the back of a chair, a broad smile lighting his face. Eleanor gave a little cry and ran to him. Kat stood back, allowing Eleanor to fuss over her son. All the while she burned with impatience. He looked well, but was he truly unhurt? Without antibiotics, even the smallest wound could turn fatal. But she had no right to ask. Ralph wasn’t hers and never would be.

  “What happened?” Eleanor asked. “Did you win?”

  Kat bit back a smile, reminded all the more strongly of a modern-day man returning home after a football match.

  “Yes and no.”

  “What—?”

  Ralph raised his head and his gaze locked with Kat’s. She pressed her hand to her stomach to relieve the sudden flutter within.

  “We didn’t fight.” He kept his eyes fixed on Kat’s. She couldn’t have torn away her gaze even had she wanted to. There seemed to be an invisible force holding her immobile. “I listened to the advice of a very intelligent woman. We’ve agreed a deal. I’ll send them food from our stores, and they’ll provide us with some of their best woolen cloth in return. No one had to die today. Oh, and they’ve agreed to take a message to Lord Hywel, to formalize the alliance.”

  The air drained from the room. With a jolt, whatever paralyzing spell had been in force broke, and Kat turned away. She wasn’t jealous. She had no right to be. She was going home and wished Ralph happy with his heiress. If she said it enough times, she might even believe it.

  Feet scuffed upon the rush matting behind her, and Ralph spoke again, his voice closer. “Lady Katherine, may I have a word with you in private?”

  She turned to see Ralph’s mother slip out of the room. “You already are. And…call me Kat.” Just once, she wanted him to call her by her chosen name before she said goodbye.

  “Kat.” He smiled, sending more butterflies to join the ones already having a party in her stomach. “It suits you. Abrupt and unusual.”

  “Was there anything particular you wanted to say? I’ve had rather a bad couple of days, what with having to escape from a locked tower. So if you only wanted to insult me, you can tick that off your list and let me return to my chamber.” Leaving him to plan his wedding without her being expected to congratulate him.

  “Forgive me, Kat. And that’s one of the things I needed to say. To beg your forgiveness. I should have trusted you.” He raked his fingers through his hair.

  She folded her arms, fighting the urge to join in. This was the part where she should forgive him. She did forgive him. But the one thing she had to say was a crushing weight upon her heart, and she couldn’t force out the words.

  “You were right,” Ralph continued. “I’ve been living in my father’s shadow for too long. You’re the only person brave enough to point it out.” He took her hands between his. The care he took to avoid hurting her palms brought a lump to her throat.

  She should pull away. Tell him she was leaving. But was it a crime to enjoy one last moment with him? She gave a shaky laugh. “You can always depend on me to point out your shortcomings.”

  “Always?” All teasing was gone from his voice. There was an intensity to his gaze that made her catch her breath.

  “I…” She coughed to ease the tightness in her throat. “I’m sure your new wife will—”

  “I’m not marrying Lord Hywel’s daughter.”

  Now! Tell him you’re leaving now. But the words wouldn’t come.

  “You’re the one I want. Only you. I love you, Kat. Marry me.”

  Her heart stuttered. “I…I thought you didn’t believe in marrying for love
.”

  “You changed my mind. Showed me what a joy it would be to share my life with a woman I can unburden my heart to. A woman who speaks her mind. One who shares my vision for a better Whitwell.”

  “But I don’t belong here.”

  “You belong with me. And look how well you’ve settled into life here.” He gave a lopsided smile that set her pulse racing. “Only a few days ago you couldn’t manage the stairs, and today you climbed down the outside of the donjon.”

  Then his expression sobered. “I don’t care where you came from. Won’t press you to tell if you’re not ready. The past is not important. What matters is that you’re here now, and this is where you belong. Besides, I dare you to tell me this is wrong.”

  He cupped her chin and kissed her. The tenderness, the love he poured into the embrace took her breath away. Her eyes fluttered closed; she leaned into him and parted her lips, reveling in the moan rumbling through his chest when she teased his lips with the tip of her tongue. She breathed in his spicy scent, wove her fingers through his hair. In return he ran his hands down her back, sending shivers of delight up and down her spine. Then his hands cupped her bottom, pulling her flush against him so she could feel the hard ridge of his erection. She shouldn’t be doing this. She had to say goodbye, but oh, God, this was a kiss that would still warm her when she was old.

  When he broke the kiss, she chased his lips, but he stepped back. She opened her eyes to see him gazing at her with the lopsided smile that never failed to make her insides swoop.

  “Ralph.” She struggled to catch her breath. Oh, God, saying goodbye was hard. “Ralph, I have to—”

  His brows drew together as though in pain. “No. Don’t answer now. I…I think I know what you would say. But promise me you’ll seriously consider it. Tell me tomorrow.”

  Before she could recover herself enough to answer, the door shut behind him.

  She staggered to a chair before her quaking legs gave way. She put her fingers to her tingling lips. It was then that it struck her: she hadn’t thought of Rob once during that kiss. It had been all Ralph and no one else.

  ****

  Long after she retired for the night she relived the kiss, clutching the coin like a talisman. The weird thing was, it hadn’t felt wrong.

  Surely that was a good thing, though. It meant she was through the worst of the grieving process, able to return to real life. Perhaps that was what had brought her here, in which case it was the right time for her to leave. Tomorrow, at first light. Yes, that was for the best. The pain would be sharp, but brief. If she stayed, sooner or later she would face the dark tunnel of grief. Fighting had been averted today, but these were dangerous times. If not death by violence and warfare, then death by disease. She didn’t fear for herself. If that was the only concern, she would happily endure the privations in order to build a better life for the people here. But she couldn’t endure the anguish of loss for a second time.

  Ralph’s kiss haunted her, left a hollow ache in her chest. One night. Would one night be so wrong? It wouldn’t make the pain of separation any worse than it already was and would give her one sweet memory to carry with her into the future.

  Without giving herself time to reconsider, she slipped out of bed, pulled her cloak around her shift, and crept into the passage. There was only one door she’d never been through, so that must be Ralph’s chamber. She didn’t knock but pressed the latch and walked straight in.

  The lamps were still lit, casting a golden glow upon the bed and Ralph. He lay asleep. The blankets had slid down to his waist, revealing a naked chest and muscular arms. She licked dry lips, tracing with her eyes what she yearned to follow with her fingers: each defined ridge and furrow on a torso that wouldn’t look out of place on a Greek god.

  Dare she do it? The sensible thing to do would be to leave. Say her farewell in the morning and try to forget the man she loved. She backed away. And tripped over the hem of her damned cloak yet again. She stumbled into a stool, knocking it against the chest at the foot of the bed. It struck with a hollow thud that reverberated around the room.

  “Kat?” Ralph blinked up at her and pushed himself into a sitting position. “What are you doing here?”

  The sheet slipped lower, pooling in his lap. Kat stared, fascinated, at his flat abdominal muscles, the silky trail of fine hair that started below his navel and disappeared beneath the sheet. As though compelled by a force outside herself, her feet carried her back to the bed.

  Whether or not this was a good idea, she was lost. Soon she would never see Ralph again. She needed this one night to remember him by.

  “I came for this.” She leaned over the bed, her loose hair trailing over his chest, and kissed him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ralph stretched, eyes still closed, bracing himself for the moment when he would have to leave the warm cocoon of his blankets and expose his flesh to the icy chill of his chamber. The memory of a strange dream lingered in his mind: a voice—Kat’s voice—and drops of rain on his face. Goodbye…I’ll always love you. Then she’d kissed him.

  He sat up, eyes wide. No. That had been real. She’d been here. The imprint in the pillow next to his and the strand of long light-brown hair proved it. Images of her body pressed against his, the feel of her silken skin beneath his lips, her soft cries of pleasure as he’d made her his…it all came flooding back. She loved him!

  He sprang out of bed and pulled on his clothes. She must have decided to marry him. He had to find her, make plans for the ceremony. Now he knew they would be together for the rest of their lives, he didn’t want to waste a single moment.

  Then why had she bid him farewell?

  He froze, partway through tying his boots. Another memory struck him: lamplight gleaming on the silver coin around her neck. What was that strange tale she’d told him?

  His boots hastily tied, he dashed to her chamber. It was empty. On the bed, neatly folded, were the cloak, gown and boots his mother had loaned her. Wherever she was, she only wore the clothes she’d arrived in.

  And the silver penny. The penny she said she’d offered to the mere.

  Sweet Jesu, had that insane story actually been true? If it was…

  He had to get to the mere. Now. Heart hammering in his chest, he dashed down the steps and out into the courtyard. Members of his household called out greetings, but he ran past without replying. When he got to the postern gate, he seized the guard’s shoulders.

  “Lady Katherine—did she go out this morning?”

  “She did, my lord. Said she wanted to—”

  “Open the gate!”

  He raced through, the blood roaring in his ears. He couldn’t lose her. Slipping and sliding, he followed the winding path down the steep slope, his eyes fixed on the snow, seeking any sign she’d been this way. A trail of footprints caught his eye. They were small and narrow, the imprint clear: Kat’s. And they’d been made recently. He ran on. Dear God, let him get there in time. He knew exactly where she would be: the same place where she’d seemed to emerge from nowhere on Christmas Eve.

  Her tale had been true. The mere had brought her here, not only in response to her offering, but his. He rubbed the empty space on his finger where his father’s ring had been. No wonder she’d been unable to tell him where she had come from. Her odd choice of words, her accent, her knowledge of Whitwell and its spring…not because she was a spy, but because she’d always lived here.

  And now she was trying to return to her year. He had to stop her. He couldn’t imagine life without her.

  ****

  Kat gazed down at the mere, the silver penny dangling from the leather thong in her fingers. The ice was thin near the reeds that lined the banks. As she watched, a duck burst from them with a whir of wings, breaking through the ice in places before it took to the air. If she threw the coin there, it would enter the water. She could make her offering. If she wanted to.

  The glow of last night’s lovemaking still warmed her body. Ralph had been
tender and loving, his every touch deepening the connection between them until she scarcely knew if the pleasure she felt was hers or an echo of his.

  A sob caught in her throat. If she returned home, she would never see him again. He’d have been dead eight hundred years. Was she being the world’s greatest idiot?

  But even in twenty-first-century Britain, she’d lost her parents and husband to accidents that came out of the blue: her parents to a car crash; Rob to the freak gust of wind. She’d only been in the twelfth century a few days, and already Ralph had been involved in a raid. It didn’t matter that he’d averted the fight this time. There would always be danger here. Returning to her own time, she could treasure her love for Ralph in her heart without ever having to experience the grief of his death.

  Tears stung her eyes as she held out her arm, preparing to cast it into the water. She took one last look at the castle, committing it to memory. Her throat ached with the effort of holding back her sobs. Oh, God, she wouldn’t even have a photo of him. Nothing to remember him by. Her only keepsake was the one thing she had to leave behind. His face, the sound of his voice, all would fade from memory. Would anything remain? The teasing, lopsided smile, perhaps; the shiver of delight even his slightest touch evoked.

  What would be worse—living each day with the fear of loss looming large, or leaving now, knowing she would never see him again?

  A figure appeared at the foot of the path. Her heart gave a thud. There was only one man of that imposing stature. Ralph! He’d obviously caught sight of her, for he ran along the shore toward her, skidding every now and again on the ice.

  She closed her fist over the coin. What to do? Was it best to leave now and avoid a painful goodbye? No. She might be rude and abrupt, but she wasn’t cruel. She lowered her arm and waited for him.

  The wind hissed through the rushes. She could almost imagine it to be a sigh of relief.

  “Kat!” Ralph arrived, each pounding step flinging powdered snow into the air. He caught her by the shoulders.