Journey in Time (Knights in Time) (15 page)

"Do you burn?"

"Yes. Yes." She wrapped her legs around him tight.

He released her hands and a slipped one hand under her hips to take him deep. Angled for ultimate penetration, no fingers now, it was all him.

***

   
  
She slept curled next to him, her leg stretched across his thighs, her fingers twitching against his chest. They’d done their best to exhaust each other.
 

He eased from under her onto his side. He traced the curve of her cheek and wondered if she’d accept this relationship once they returned. Will her opinion of mistresses change? Or, will she eventually want marriage? Ever so lightly, he ran his finger along the seam of her mouth. She smiled in her sleep but didn’t wake.

Marriage. Centuries ago she’s precisely what he; Guy Guiscard would’ve sought in a wife.
Centuries ago.

Alex Lancaster will never take a wife, never marry.

He closed his eyes and dozed off.

Cannons roar. Sections of the ramparts collapse, the formidable stone pounded into submission under the relentless assault. The garrison survivors who’d retreated from the outer curtain wall are now cut off. Archers, knights, and foot soldiers have fallen back to reform on the perimeters of the bailey. Squires run along the lines with orders from the Captain of the Guard. Archers scramble to find higher ground to fire down on the enemy as they rush the
breech.

The holding’s villeins, men and women, any who aren’t too young, or too old, or too infirm, armed with axes, pitchforks, hoes, some with only sticks stand ready to fill the gaps where soldiers fall. Barring a miracle, after this day, Elysian Fields
would
be no more.

Unseen, he walks among Cromwell’s New Model Army, his enemy’s lines. A grimy sheen of black powder and sweat coats the arms and faces of the men who work the heavy guns. White flashes momentarily obliterate the features of the artillerymen as they detonate the cannons again.

"No!" Alex bolted upright, heart pounding. He swung his legs to the floor and pressed the heel of his hand hard to his chest.
 

 
Shakira scrambled up and wiped sleep from her eyes. "What’s wrong? You yelled."

"Everything is fine."

"You’re not fine." She scooted to his side. "What’s wrong?"

"Nothing, an old nightmare returned."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head. Sudden, acute pain stabbed through his cheek. Alex turned so she wouldn’t see him wince. "Thank you for the offer." He forced a smile and faced her. "Go back to sleep, please. I’m fine."

She looked unconvinced but said, "Goodnight," and lay down again. After a few minutes her breathing evened into a deep, rhythmic pattern.
 

The faces in his dream melted away. His body calmed. Alex untangled the sheet that bunched at the foot of the bed from their earlier lovemaking. "I can never be more than your lover, darling. I hope you understand when the time comes," he said and spread the sheet over the sleeping Shakira so she wouldn’t catch a chill.

"Never."

Chapter Eighteen

Shakira cracked open one eye. If she was very, very lucky, this would be Alex's cottage. If she was very, very unlucky, she’d see the walls of an old Keep
.
Rough cut, honey colored stone confirmed the worst. She closed her eyes and tried to convince herself she still slept and this was part of a horrible nightmare. She refused to acknowledge the noises that drifted up sounded too authentic for a dream.

Gates creaked, doors slammed, dogs barked, horses whinnied, geese honked, one after another. Women shouted orders. Young voices answered, followed by the sound of running feet. The sun hadn't fully appeared on the horizon yet, but castle folk see no reason to be quiet. Their daily life begins when the first bright streaks show themselves.
 

"Rocky?" Alex patted her shoulder. "Rocky, we need to get up."

Torn, she lay curled and silent. She didn’t want to face waking in 1355, but she definitely didn’t want to believe she dreamt making love to Alex either.
 

A vigorous shake and a smack on the butt ended any pretense of sleep. "Rise and shine, my lovely," Alex said, a bit too energized for her tastes. He threw the sheet off and sat on the edge of the bed.

She rolled over with a groan. "What time is it?"

"Around five, I’d guess." Alex ran his hand along his cheeks and jaw scratching at the stubble. "I’d like to get going soon. Would you mind if I didn’t shave?"

"I don’t mind. You look kind of sexy, kind of dangerous with your ten o’clock shadow even if it is only five o’clock. She wriggled her butt deeper into the mattress snuggling under her half of the covers.
           
He lay down again. With his weight on one elbow, he poked his head under the sheet and kissed her belly. "I find you pretty sexy too, even if you do snore."

"I don’t."

"Oh darling, I’ve slept on the ground with exhausted knights for months on end. You’d do any one of them proud."

"What is that supposed to mean?" He tried to pick the sheet up again, but she held it tight to her sides.

"Don’t get your knickers in a knot. I just never heard a woman snore like a hibernating bear," he said and attempted to loosen her fingers.

She closed her fists.

"I take it morning sex is out."

"There are a couple of ways to wake a bear with a poke. Sadly for you, you picked the wrong stick."

Alex laughed and got to his feet. He filled the basin with water from a pitcher brought the night before and washed.

She sat up, tucked the sheet under her arms, and watched as he splashed his face and neck, then toweled off. Unconcerned with his nakedness, he opened the bailey-side window, looked down, and threw out the dirty water from the bowl. How much can someone standing on the ground see from that angle? She made a mental note to check.

He walked back and refilled the basin. Wetting a square of cloth, he dipped it into a small bowl and rubbed his teeth.

"What are you cleaning your teeth with?"

"Salt. It's disgusting but better than nothing." He tugged the sheet and pulled her to the foot of the bed. "When you're done, we'll eat and ride out." Another tug and she was on her feet. She gathered the sheet and loosely draped it around her like a makeshift toga.

"How can we ride out, I don't have anything to wear?"

"By the time you're finished the seamstress will have one of your dresses here. She'd better. She and her assistants were paid handsomely to have one ready this morning." With a pat on her bottom, he urged her in the direction of the chamber pot behind the screen.

She couldn’t move. The idea of taking care of such personal needs while he was in the room mortified her. He tapped her bottom again before she shuffled over to the chamber pot. She’d held off going to the toilet since he returned last night. Now, she really had to go. She huddled behind the screen, dancing from foot to foot.

"Rocky, are you all right? You’re awfully quiet back there."

"I’m fine." She crossed her legs and tried to sound casual. "Is the maid bringing a tray of food, or are you going to the kitchen? Maybe you should go down and ask?"

"You want me out of the room, don't you?" Alex chuckled. "I’m guessing you’re reluctant to use the pot while I’m in earshot?"

"Well...yes."

"I'll go so you have a few minutes to yourself."

The door closed. Relieved, she maneuvered herself as fast as possible over the medieval answer to a water closet. "Barbaric, like peeing in a tea kettle," she muttered.

She finished fast, hesitated, but ultimately used the sponge on the dish by the pot to clean herself. She felt sorry for the servant who had sponge cleaning detail. She washed her hands and face and fixed her hair, a difficult job with only a small hand mirror. She used the same cloth Alex did to clean her teeth. The salt residue clung to her tongue and gums. The sharp aftertaste reminded her of childhood trips to Brighton where she always seemed to swallow gallons of salt water playing in the surf.
  

Someone kicked at the door as she rinsed her mouth for the third time. "Coming," she called, grabbing the discarded sheet. She clutched the cloth to her chest and opened the door a few inches to peek out. Alex stood there with a tray of food, a dress slung over his arm, and his foot poised to kick the door again. Oblivious to the food, she snatched the dress from him the moment he put the tray on the table.

The seamstress had worked wonders. Shakira forgot her nudity as she laid the dress onto the bed. A hunter's green robe of finely woven wool lined in cream silk made up the outer garment. Deep cut sleeves exposed a kirtle underneath of contrasting gold with tiny buttons. The woman even included a chemise of thin muslin tied at the top with a ribbon. She slipped the layers over her head.

Alex held a chunk of bread between his teeth while he threaded and tied the laces of the robe, which ran the length of her spine. He wolfed down the bread and cut himself another slice as she took over looping the dozen or so buttons.

"The cobbler won’t be able to deliver shoes until later today," he said between bites. "I didn’t think to see about a head-dress for you."

"I’ll just have to wear my boots." She sat on the bed and gathered her skirt around her knees. "As to the head-dress, don’t bother,” she said, tugging a boot on. “I’ve seen them in museums. I am not sticking one of those on my head. They’re lame."

She stood when she finished putting the boots on and held her skirt up. They both laughed at the odd combination of period dress with the tall, black field boots.

"Thank God, no one can see under this skirt. Your servants would really have something to talk about."

"Think of yourself as fashion forward." He beckoned her as he opened the door. "Come along milady, the horses should be saddled by now."

She stopped on each stair to kick the skirt out of her way so the boots didn't catch at the hem. "This long dress is a total pain in the arse," she said with a frustrated sigh as they entered the hall. "I refuse to ride side saddle too."

"Don't worry. I told the stable boy to use the same horses and saddles we rode in on yesterday."

He greeted everyone they passed with a polite nod, stopping to talk to none. With a firm grasp on her elbow, he led her to the door as fast as the dress allowed her to walk.

***

They took the identical route as the day before. The early hour cast a lavender shadow over much of the landscape. Before long the steel grey boulder where the time shift occurred loomed ahead. Neither dismounted immediately, instead they rode close together and circled the outcropping in vain for any clues. When nothing came of the search, they got off and walked the area. Everything seemed ordinary and common to a hundred similar places in Southern England.

“I’m sorry, I got you into this mess,” Alex said.

“It’s not your fault.”

“If I hadn’t pushed you into staying at the cottage, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“We’d have gone riding the second day, no matter where I stayed. We’d have found ourselves in the area again,” she said.