A Knight in Central Park (22 page)

“I have never felt such things.” Not until I met you, she thought to herself. “I found boys to be brutish in manner and lacking in here,” she said, pointing to her skull.

Sir Joe laughed. “Never mind, then. I forget the point I was making anyhow.”

“I think what you were trying to do,” she said, leaning over him, her chest brushing against him as she gathered the tray and placed it on the nightstand, “was put words in my mouth and tell me what I am feeling.” She returned to her seat on the stool and waited for a response.

“Hmmm,” he said, smiling, “maybe you’re right.”

“Did you love Suzanne?” she asked.

Joe had never in his life talk to a woman about ex-girlfriends and such. Alexandra had caught him off guard. “No,” he said and tossed the flower to the side table.

“But she loved you?”

“No, I don’t think she loved me either.”

Alexandra lifted her chin. “Have you ever had these crushes you speak of?”

“Many times.”

“’Twould be a crush if you were to stand before this person and were to suddenly lose control of your tongue and trip over your feet like a newborn calf?”

“Sounds like you speak from experience after all.”

“Nay,” she said, “but I have seen how silly boys act around girls with comely faces.”

“I’m sure you’ve left a fair share of young men crippled and speechless.”

“Nay,” she said, nudging him with her elbow, “you jest. Boys were never interested in me.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re fishing for compliments?”

“What does that mean, fishing for compliments?”

“It means that you might be hinting for me to say something nice about you.” He leaned her way and inhaled. “Something about how sweet you smell or how nice you look.”

“Oh,” she said, her lips curving upward, “go on.”

He laughed. “You might hope I would mention your endless beauty or maybe talk on and on about your luscious red hair and how it shines about your face like a halo of crimson silk.” He lifted a strand of her hair and let it slide between his thumb and forefinger. “Or maybe you’d prefer I go on about your eyes and how they put the purest of green grasses to shame, sparkling like the rarest of emeralds.”

Joe watched a half-smile play on her lips; full and achingly kissable lips. Then it hit him like another toilet plunger to his head. She was doing it again, pulling him in, making him desire her in such a way that would make it impossible for him to ever leave her. He could not allow himself to fall in love with a woman from another time. Falling in love?

The thought had come out of right field. A prickling sensation ran up his spine. Hell, he didn’t believe in love. Every time a woman talked of love he felt the tightening of a straight jacket. Love meant being restrained. Love always had conditions attached to it...I’ll love you more if you stop working so much. I’ll love you forever as long as you behave accordingly. Love was not the antidote to an empty, meaningless life as some people seemed to think.

Calming himself, he thought, even if his feelings wavered in the direction of a strong attraction for Alexandra, he could not stay in this world. What about cars, big cities, dishwashers and hot showers? He already missed those things, dammit.

His jaw twitched.

He didn’t love Alexandra, so what was he worried about? No responsibilities tied him here—no sirree. Other than dealing with Sir Richard when the time came, he was as free as a bird, obligated to no one but himself. He was exempt, so to speak, relieved of all...

Her long thick lashes fluttered and he found himself engulfed in big, beautiful liquid green eyes. It was too late. She had already marked him as an easy target.

“Are you finished?” she asked in what he considered to be a throaty, seductive whisper.

He sat up. “Darn right I’m finished. And just for the record, you don’t love me, Alexandra. And that’s final.” He’d never liked people who pointed fingers, but he’d been pointing a lot of them lately. He pointed one now, accusingly, selfishly, blaming her for conjuring up all these touchy, feely things he was experiencing. Asking her to go on about her inner self...where the hell did that come from? Sure, most people from his time spent millions of dollars on books to learn about their inner selves. But not him. Not Joe McFarland. He’d never touched one of those self-help books in his life. The idea was absurd.

Giving no thought to his lack of clothing, he slid his legs over the edge of the bed and came to his feet. “I don’t love you, Alexandra, so don’t even think it.”

She gasped. “I never implied such a thing.”

“I don’t have any feelings for you whatsoever,” he ground out as he crossed the room to retrieve his clothes.

Alexandra came to her feet and let out a ponderous sigh.

“Don’t sigh at me,” he said over his shoulder, “because right now, I’m not even sure if I want to be your friend.”

She followed him across the room.

He stepped into a more comfortable pair of breeches that he’d traded the innkeeper for last night. He waited for Alexandra to comment on what he’d done with Ari’s clothes, but she was much too busy trying to get him to look into her eyes again. And when he did, he saw that she was immensely pleased about something.

And that irritated the hell out of him. “What are you doing, Alexandra? Can’t you see that I’m angry? See my face?” He pointed to it. “I’m frowning. People usually stay away from people who are frowning.”

“Why is that?”

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, but for some reason it just sort of makes sense.”

Her smile turned into a full-blown grin.

He shook his head. “What are you so damn happy about?”

“I am pleased, Sir Joe, because—where did you get those breeches?” she asked, clearly swept off track.

“The innkeeper kindly agreed to exchange them for Ari’s clothes. So now,” he said, crossing his arms across his bare chest, “tell me what has you grinning like a Cheshire cat?”

“I am smiling, my lord, because it is as clear as fresh spring water that you have a crush on me.”

He snorted as he looked at her, drawn to the freckles on her nose and the dimple in her cheek that appeared every time she smiled. Every muscle in his body tensed. She was right. He had crush on her, a foolish infatuation. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” he lied.

Her gaze lowered to a thin scar across his abdomen. She traced it with her fingertip, gently, as if it pained her to think of his being injured. “’Tis from battle?”

He gently removed her hand. “Yes, you could say that...a battle with appendicitis.”

She pouted. He’d never seen her pout before.

“Why, Sir Joe, are you surly when ’Twas you who asked me to stay and keep you company?” Her brow puckered. “I thought you wanted to know who I was.”

“I changed my mind.”

“I am a woman,” she said anyhow, lifting her chin high and pacing before him, “who enjoys the company of a man I know I can never have. He isn’t anything like the warrior I might have envisioned, but he has turned out to be so much more than the scholarly neat-freak I had first happened upon.”

He gave her a sour look.

“He is brave, honorable, and honest.” She stopped pacing long enough to let her eyes roam brazenly over him from head to foot. “And reasonably handsome if one prefers the scholarly type; well-muscled but not precisely an artist’s dream.” She put a finger to her chin. “Gracious, but not debonair. Stubborn, but not pig-headed, and verily he is unwavering in his life’s aspirations.”

Joe shook his head, then slipped on his shirt.

“And when he leaves this world of mine for good,” she said, following him across the room, “which I have no doubt he will. I will not mourn the loss of him, for I will know full well that my life is better for having known him. I only wish he felt the same.”

Joe could feel her beside him, like a second shadow, but he didn’t turn about. A lump formed in his throat as he stood there, just stood there, frozen. It irked him to know that she was so much stronger than he was. He took a deep breath and stood tall. Then he turned toward her. “The way I see it,” he said as he fastened the ties on his shirt, “we now have less than two weeks to rescue your sister, which means we don’t have time to lust after one another or discuss how we may or may not feel after I’m gone. Got it?”

He tucked in his shirt.

She gazed into his eyes.

Resisting her was impractical...impossible. He took hold of her shoulders and brought her close, his lips covering hers in a slightly angry, fiery kiss. He was hungry for her, felt as if he’d been imprisoned, starving for her affections for too long.

She leaned into him as he tasted her with a passionate longing that took him by surprise. He’d never longed for a woman as he longed for her. He was quite literally ravenous for her, couldn’t get enough of her, basking in the glory of a mere kiss, intending to remember every detail of her mouth so that he could pull the taste, the texture, and the moment into his dreams at will after he was gone.

He pulled away, drew in a ragged breath, tried to collect himself. She leaned her head against his chest, prompting him to brush his fingers through her hair. He could feel the beat of her heart.

“Got it,” she whispered without looking up, breaking the silence and causing a faint smile to cross his lips.

Using every ounce of willpower he possessed, he turned away from her and went to gather his things. He didn’t dare look back at her, didn’t want to see the emotions on her face, didn’t want to know that she was willing to take whatever he had to offer, knowing full well he would leave in the end.

Footsteps and the sound of the door closing caused him to look over his shoulder. She was gone. If his insides weren’t aching, he would almost believe she’d never come to his room. He sighed. In two weeks he’d be back home. That’s what he needed to focus on. Maybe he’d even have a few treasures to bring back with him; items that would make him eagerly sought after by the Academy.

He had only to fulfill a promise. Fight a small army of armored men and gain entrance to a fortress.

No problem.

A
lexandra wasn’t the only woman staring at Sir Joe when he finally sauntered into the main eating area where long trestle tables lined the center of the room. Smoke from the kitchens swept past him and disappeared through the open windows.

The sight of him in dark, well-fitting breeches and a fine cotton shirt with loose sleeves added to his appeal. He stood tall and broad shouldered; his thick, dark hair, verily one of his finest features, had grown quickly and nearly touched his collar.

Alexandra realized he had yet to spot her as she moved toward him, watching with much interest as he went to the warm hearth where Rebecca played quietly with her toy.

As Rebecca moved her baby, which Joe had told her was a “doll“ in modern terms, to and fro, Rebecca had a look of intense concentration on her small face. The armless doll looked more like a dirty rag than anything else, but Rebecca didn’t seem to mind. When Rebecca dared to sneak a glance his way, Sir Joe smiled and gestured toward the doll. “What’s your baby’s name?”

Rebecca glanced at the toy, and then surprised them both by handing it to him.

“Hmmm, yes,” he said, taking the doll gingerly between two fingers, holding it as if it were a dead skunk.

One of the things Alexandra had discovered about Sir Joe was that he was much more sensitive than he liked people to believe. He was keenly aware of one’s feelings, which is why she felt confident he knew what a true gift Rebecca was giving him by allowing him to hold her treasured possession.

Within moments Sir Joe was holding the toy with both hands, examining it carefully, most likely wondering how a child could grow such a fond attachment to a dirty cloth with legs. But even though his nose wrinkled slightly, Alexandra knew he was doing his best not to reveal any disgust he might be feeling. “She’s beautiful,” he said.

A hint of a smile played at Rebecca’s eyes.

“Let’s see,” he said holding the toy high as if to see it better in the firelight. “Her hair is as fair as newly spun silk. And look at that skin of hers, would you? A flawless complexion...like that of a swan princess, wouldn’t you say?”

Rebecca’s eyes widened and a faint twinkle shone there, but as usual, not one sound came forth.

“Does she have a name?”

Rebecca squirmed, but said nothing.

Sir Joe selected a dry stick from the firewood near the hearth and lightly touched it to both sides of the rag doll where the arms should be. “I dub thee Princess Hildegard.”

Rebecca wrinkled her nose.

Alexandra snorted, giving herself away.

Sir Joe looked over at her, showed no sign of displeasure at seeing her there before he turned his attention back to Rebecca. “What? That’s not her name?”

Rebecca shook her head.

He peered back at the doll again. “Then her name must be Euphemia.”

Rebecca’s eyes widened, and she shook her head wildly.

“Esperanza?”

No such luck.

“I’ve got it! Xavier Victoria Dagmar.” He grinned at the toy as if he’d finally guessed correctly. “A truly fine name, I must say.”

Rebecca tugged on his shirt and when he finally gazed upon her, she shook her head.

“Come on,” he pleaded, “the suspense is killing me. What is your doll’s name?”

“She used to call it her baby,” Alexandra informed him.

“Oh, so maybe that’s the problem. She’s not your doll at all. She’s your baby.”

Rebecca scooted closer to the wall and fiddled uncomfortably with the hem of her tunic. He handed her the toy and said, “So, you can’t talk, huh?”

Tempted to fill the silence with her own words as she had been doing for over a year now, Alexandra had to stop herself from interfering.

“My guess is that you can talk just fine,” he said to Rebecca. “You just don’t want to talk. When I was small,” he went on thoughtfully, “I didn’t talk much either. Why bother talking when nobody has time to listen.”