Journey in Time (Knights in Time) (39 page)

"The stable boy told us yesterday. She paid him to have Eclipse saddled and ready at first light. We waited and watched for her at the far end of the curtain wall. Trust me Guy; we made certain she wouldn't leave without us knowing. The day you left, Stephen and I went round to the stable boys and the men on the gates and instructed them to get word to us if your lady left the grounds. All understood if Lady Shakira went outside without our knowledge whoever neglected to tell us would answer to Stephen and me, and then to you. Neither circumstance would bode well for them."

A faint smile touched Alex's lips, picturing the menace behind Simon's threats. Then, the significance of something else Simon said hit him and his smile faded. "You say she took Eclipse?"

"Yes."

Why take Eclipse, Alex wondered. The abbess must've told her the church keeps whatever possessions she brings. Suspicion crept into Alex's heart, an ugly doubt about Shakira he refused to lend credence and pushed it from his mind. She loved him. She’d never betray him. The reassurances helped, but he hated that he couldn’t come up with a reasonable explanation for her actions. It should be easy and it wasn’t. There it was again...
doubt.
The more he denied the dark thought, the stronger it grew.

"Thank you Simon. You and Stephen can go."

"Let me finish getting a decent fire started first." Stephen stabbed at the tiny flame of the kindling.

"Leave it. Go to Hailes and just verify with the abbess if Lady Shakira was expected today."

Stephen stood and replaced the poker on its iron hook. He joined Simon at the door.

"And tell the maid to send another flagon of wine," Alex said, draining his goblet.

The knights exchanged a look of concern. "As you wish," Simon said and closed the door.

***

Alex didn't answer the maid's knock.

"Milord," she called through the door and tapped again before she entered. A tray of food was balanced on her shoulder and held in place with one hand. "Your wine." She lowered the tray to the table next to him. "I brought a fresh meat pie and broth too. Cook thought you'd be hungry." She filled his goblet and said, "Sir Stephen asked me to tend to your fire."

"Leave me," Alex said, finally acknowledging her as she moved toward the fireplace.

"But, milord--"

"Go." He waved her away. Alex poured a goblet of wine and took several swallows. In the music world, he often relied on his instincts to predict trends and a client's potential for success. In the times of battle, good tactics, based on logic more than instinct, distinguished between victory and defeat. Shakira's disappearance required logic, an unemotional analysis of the circumstances.

Clearly, she intended to hide at the abbey. Why, knowing he’d find her? Perhaps it was a panic reaction. He'd seen brave knights, fine warriors, react out of fear and do things out of character.

The fact she took Eclipse troubled Alex. Why give the church an animal she loved? She knew they’d sell him. He wasn't useful to them. He was too much horse for the abbess and couldn't be used in the fields. He possessed only cash value.

His dark thoughts of earlier returned. He finished his wine and poured another.

From his window, Alex watched with detached interest the activity in the bailey. What started in the morning as a rainstorm had turned to snow flurries. A brisk wind whipped the falling snow into white funnels. Servants ducked their heads away to avoid the worst.

Tiny flakes blew inside and melted as they landed on his face and the armor he still wore from that morning. He mindlessly worked the fasteners of his back and breastplate and the vambraces, shedding the most uncomfortable pieces. He stacked the plates on the bench, thinking about Shakira’s conversation with Stephen. The more he analyzed her actions today, the stranger they appeared, unless, he was viewing the situation from the wrong angle.
The French mistake at Poitiers.

His mind wandered back to the day of the battle. English provisions dangerously low, hunger plagued the army. If the French army surrounded them, they could starve the English out. Prince Edward had to retreat to Bordeaux, the English held province for supplies. He ordered the first of his three vanguards and the baggage train to start the withdrawal.

After months of Edward’s army harrying and challenging them, the French misinterpreted the action. They assumed the movement in the English camp meant the prince ordered his men into battle readiness. The French finally chose to fight and formed up on the plateau they occupied. Weak as the English army was, the Black Prince was never one to run from a battle.

Debilitated and outnumbered, the English took the day. The terrible French defeat might never have happened had they not misread the English intent. Perhaps he was falling into the same trap, analyzing her actions as they appeared on the surface.
   

Stephen cracked open the door. "Guy, it's me. I'm with Jared." They stepped inside and shut the door. Stephen joined Alex. "Let Jared help you with the rest of your armor and mail," he said in a low voice as he closed the window.

Alex moved to the center of the room where Jared had more space to work. “What did the abbess say?”

“Lady Shakira was due to arrive this morning,” Stephen said. “She questioned us. Simon and I took the liberty to tell her Lady Shakira changed her mind.”

“Good. The happenings of today are not the abbesses business.”

"I'll clean these tonight," Jared said, adding Alex’s greaves and mail to the stack on the table and left with Stephen.

Alone, Alex returned to the point of view question. He considered everything Shakira had done from the opposite standpoint. What if the abbey commitment was a feint? What if it was a backup plan, a cover, in case her chance to return home failed? She never intended to live at the abbey, which explains why she took Eclipse. She loved the horse too much to leave him behind if she found an opportunity to return to their century. She just couldn't take her husband. The bitter thought settled deep in his heart and twisted in his chest.

The more he thought, the more his analysis made sense. Because her movements were tracked this last week it didn’t mean she hadn't monitored the portal. Maybe she surreptitiously tried for a glimpse of the gauntlet when she went to the abbey. Or, maybe she paid a few pennies to a village boy to report if the glove disappeared. At some point, she discovered the gauntlet was gone, assumed the portal opened, and bet it would again. But why didn't she tell him?

The question tormented him. Why didn’t she wait for his return? His mind grasped for a way around the obvious, searching for an excuse. Only one explanation came. Fear. Her morbid fear he couldn’t keep them safe. Fear they couldn’t escape the fate of history. Fear she’d end up alone and stuck in this century overrode her love for him. He didn’t know how she determined when the portal would open again. It didn’t matter. What mattered was, she saw her chance for a way home and took it.
I have done
what I had to do
, the awful truth, in her own words.

Until today, he'd have bet his soul Shakira was incapable of such treachery. Bitterness turned to anger.

The scenario haunted Alex. He ran it over and over again in his head. Secluded in their chamber, he shunned the evening meal. The servants brought a tray anyway and removed the untouched broth and meat pie. When the contents of the evening meal grew cold and congealed, they replaced it with a smaller plate of bread and cheese.

Only his flagon of wine needed replenishing. He drank with the deliberation of a man trying to obliterate all thought, all memory, and having no luck. Denied the blessed relief of drunkenness, he charged, tried, and condemned her in his heart.

In a small corner of his conscience, a devil's advocate tried to raise an objection. The advocate argued she might not have panicked if he'd told her about the holding in Wales. Maybe, if she'd known they wouldn't exist like fugitives forever, if she’d known he found a way to work things out, as he’d promised her, she’d be with him still.

Hurt overruled the defense and the pain of her desertion renewed itself. Fear didn’t validate her actions. She abandoned him, pure and simple.
  

Alex reread her note.
The best hope you have for surviving
this world is without me
. He flung the goblet, his sharp denouncement spoken for the first time, "My generous martyr, such self-sacrifice for my benefit.”

The empty goblet bounced off the fireplace surround and rolled across the room.
I love you with all my heart and soul.
Alex repeated, letting the note flutter to the floor. His calloused hands flexed over the stone mantle.

"How could you?"

Chapter Forty-Eight

     
“That’s everything, every step I made, since leaving Elysian Fields for Hailes Abbey three hours ago.” Emotionally spent, Shakira sank into the pillowy sofa cushions and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes.

Miranda sat next to her. “Bring me a damp wash cloth,” she told Ian.

Shakira had called Ian and Miranda from the groundskeeper’s home. They’d arrived at Alex’s cottage within the hour.

“Let it out, Shake,” Miranda said, rubbing her back.

Ian returned with the cloth.

“Crying serves no purpose.” Shakira took the damp cloth from Ian, wiped her face, and composed herself. “Sorry.”

“Why don’t you make us some tea, darling,” Ian said to Miranda, “or do you prefer coffee?”

“Coffee, the stronger, the better,” Shakira said. “What are we going to do, Ian? We—I have to find a way to get Alex out of there. He could wind up dead instead of Guy, if there is a Guy. History doesn’t care which one it takes.”

Ian dragged the club chair around so he was face to face with Shakira.

Sunshine streamed through the front window, bathing the sofa in light. Ian reached over and examined the hem on her sleeve.

“What?”

“The finish work of your gown. The stitching is tidy but slightly irregular, not uniform like those from a modern sewing machine.”

She thought it an odd thing to notice. “It was hand sewn by the seamstress at Elysian Fields,” she said in sudden understanding. He was looking for details to confirm her story. “You don’t believe me? Didn’t I accurately describe the holding, the people, even Basil’s crooked nose?”

“You did,” Ian said, pinching the bridge of his now straight nose. “May I see your wedding ring?”

She held her out hand.

“The symbol of the Guiscard family, an exact copy of the ring Guy wore centuries ago. The original was stripped from his body by battlefield scavengers. He’d never give any woman a ring identical to his unless he made her his wife.”

“Why would I lie about us marrying?”

“Relax. Although I very much wanted not to, I believe you.” Ian looked hard into her eyes for a long moment.

From his quizzical expression, she had the feeling he was on the bubble about part of her story, something troubled him. In his defense, it was a lunatic’s tale. But—considering
his
unusual past, he should be more inclined to believe her.

“What are Alex’s chances of living?” Shakira asked, returning to the most pressing matter.

“Slim. I suspect he intended to hide in Portmeirion, where his family has land. If he makes it there, he’ll likely be all right.”

“He never mentioned another home.”

“Far as I know, he’d never visited the property. He was probably checking the condition and arranging to make it livable on his last trip,” Ian said.