Journey in Time (Knights in Time) (43 page)

Unexpected, the full effect that after tomorrow he'd never see any of these people again settled over him. In his previous life, he hadn't known the outcome. Fool that he was he assumed he'd survive to return home. The parting hadn't ached so much.

Worse--tomorrow he'd take one last look into the faces of friends and see their fate, for some their deaths. Stephen's deep laugh carried up to the window from the stable where he and Simon chatted with the smithy. In nine months, Stephen would bleed to death at Poitiers, felled by a knight with a black panther on an orange field emblazoned on his tunic. Simon would lose a leg to an ax blow from an enemy unseen by Alex.
 

Armed with foreknowledge, Alex arranged for any of the men who served under him, able bodied or crippled, to return and live at Elysian Fields if they wished. He weighed the possible repercussions of altering their futures and decided the risk was worth taking.

His previous departure for war he’d procrastinated and put off a visit to his mother. He didn’t understand her withdrawal from the world, and at the time, resented her inability to cope with widowhood.

Filled with nostalgia, this time he tried to see her. He’d ridden to the abbey to say he loved her and to kiss her once more. She refused to meet him. He watched from a distance as she went to prayer, tempted to intercept her, to tell her he wouldn’t be coming back, ever. Instead, he whispered his goodbye as she disappeared from view.

As for Madeline, time was too short to ride to Somerset and say farewell, just like the first time.

His awareness of future events forced difficult and gut wrenching choices on him. Elysian Fields was the hardest decision. Since his arrival, he debated strengthening the holding to alter the outcome of Cromwell's attack and its destruction. Ultimately, he made the agonizing decision to do nothing different. He’d only risk a disruption in the course of events so much. Giving the men a place to return to where their bellies would be full and where they'd have a roof over their heads was substantially different than fixing Elysian Fields. The future of his men's lives weren’t absolutely transformed by the opportunity. They didn’t have to accept.

Alex closed the shutters and drew a heavy drape across the window, shutting out the noise from below. He had to get rid of many things before he packed his saddlebags. He unlocked the chest and removed the modern clothing he and Rocky wore on that fateful ride.
Rocky.
He lifted her shirt out first. The faintest scent of Intuition, her perfume, filled the air. There and gone swiftly.
Rocky
. He sniffed the place where it was strongest again, the banded part where the collar buttoned. The morning of their ride, she’d come from the bathroom wearing the shirt with the perfume in her hand. He watched her over a cup of coffee, listening to her talk about music, while she’d dabbed the base of her throat.

He started to smile and stopped. He almost slipped, almost allowed a good memory of her to invade. He balled the shirt up and piece by piece, burned their clothes.
 

Finished, he started to lock the chest again when a gleam of metal caught his eye. There at the bottom lay the ornate wedding chalices. How Shakira loved the heirlooms. Alex picked up one of the heavy goblets and sat back on his heels. The cups were his to take or leave. But why take them? It wasn't as if she'd be around to appreciate the gesture. He chastised himself for being a fool as he wrapped both in the banner she’d made for his birthday and tucked them in the bottom of the saddlebag.

***

Alex picked at his dinner. The spirited conversations of the men sharing the table with him did little to dispel his melancholy mood. When he could bear no more, he rose and left the hall. On the staircase, Stephen flirted with a serving girl. He grinned over her shoulder as Alex passed. Alex returned the smile and continued toward his chamber. He climbed several steps then stopped.

“Stephen,” he called back and waved the knight up.

A whispered word sent the girl off with a giggle.

“Yes Guy,” Stephen said, joining Alex. “What did you need?”

What a moment earlier was a decent thing to do he questioned now. No debate. It was wrong. Alex hesitated.

“Guy?”

“Beware the black panther in a sea of orange.”

Stephen gave a little shake of his head. “I don’t understand.”

“Black cat-orange field,” Alex said. Turning, he left the puzzled knight on the stairs behind him.

***

Like centuries ago, a cold front hovered over the area. Fresh snowflakes swirled in the dawn wind and landed on Alex’s eyelashes as he stopped at the end of the drawbridge for one last view. Two barren trees stood at the entrance to the portcullis. A thin layer of ice from the early frost covered their branches. Their frozen limbs reflected the torchlight from the archway and sent sparklers of light in all directions. Behind the gates, in the bleak wintry morning, the butter-colored stone Keep looked like a warm jewel.

Elysian Fields in her glory.

Unable to linger any longer, Alex spurred Thor to the west and away.

Chapter Fifty-Two

Shakira kneeled by the toilet.

"God, I wish I could help more." Kristen pressed a damp paper towel to Shakira's forehead. "What will you do?"

"Throw-up again," Shakira said and she did.

"I mean about the partners."

"What can I do," she panted between bouts of sick. "I have to tell them, eventually."

She stayed hunched over the bowl until her stomach stopped doing flip-flops. When she was certain the worst was over, she stood on wobbly legs and wiped her cheeks and mouth with the towel. The cool cloth soothed her flushed skin.

"It's pretty amazing when you think about it. All the women Alex Lancaster has banged and you go off with him and bam, wind up preggers." Kristen sat so one hip rested on the edge of the sink. "Was it--deliberate?"

“What do you mean?" Shakira asked, although the meaning was obvious. She bent to rinse out her mouth, avoiding an answer.

"You're adults, and adults know how to prevent unwanted pregnancies." Kristen leaned closer. "Please, you've been gaga over him from the first. Who wouldn't be? He's hunky, charming, intelligent. What woman wouldn't want to procreate with him or at least try until you both fainted from dehydration?"

Shakira wasn’t certain what the truth was. Had she subconsciously wanted to avoid discussing birth control with Alex? Had she used the trauma of their situation as an excuse to ignore other aspects, consequences, of their relationship?

She'd read medieval women used various methods of birth control. Dodgy and unreliable as they were, she might've inquired about them, if she'd sincerely been interested.

Kristen relaxed back, readjusting her weight on the sink's edge. The unanswered question hung in the air.

"I guess I figured the odds were slim and didn't worry about it."

The secretary's brows notched up a fraction.

"Oh, I don't know. What do you want me to say? That, maybe deep down I kind of hoped it might happen. Maybe for the first time, I seriously considered having a child and wanted Alex to be my baby's father?"
 

"I take it-" Kristen paused, "Things didn't work out since he hasn't called and you haven't mentioned him."

Shakira appreciated the sympathy in Kristen’s tone. She meant well, but Shakira didn’t want the sentiment. It changed nothing.

“For your sake, I had hoped he’d be different than his playboy image,” Kristen added.
 

"He is."

The sight of Alex dashing through the door at Dankworth's flashed in her mind. Merciless in dealing with Dankworth, he handled her with the utmost gentleness a moment later.

She braced her hands along the sides of the sink next to the one Kristen occupied as the memories washed over her. Their short marriage allowed her the luxury of seeing the many facets of Alex's personality, not just the caricature so often presented by the gossip columns.
  

Shakira wanted to confront every detractor with what she knew. "He can walk the ramparts observing what fortifications need work, handle a sword like he was born with one in his hand, he’s brave, and honorable..." Vision after vision came and went in no particular order.

She fled the restroom rather than let Kristen or anyone who walked in see the raw emotions she struggled to keep in check.

                                                           
***

Behind Kristen, a stall door squeaked open. Judith, the longtime secretary to Mr. Wickersham, the senior partner, stepped out. Impeccable in her conservative tweed suit, the straight skirt's hem fell below the knee. Its loose cut combined with a boxy jacket so no feminine curves could be discerned. At her nape, a tightly wound chignon held fast and didn't allow for errant strands of brown or grey. The severity of the hairdo made her mannish, unplucked eyebrows, more pronounced. Humorless and unpleasant, Kristen referred to her as "arse face" and avoided the woman whenever possible.

"I see our rising star, Ms. Constantine, has returned. I gather her affair with that Alex Lancaster person was rather short lived. Just long enough to get her pregnant, eh?" Judith said as she washed her hands.

Kristen remained silent.

Judith dried her hands and opened the door to leave, then stopped. "Did you know Mr. Wickersham disowned his daughter years ago?"

"No, I’m not privy to that sort of information."

The dour secretary eased the door to an almost closed position. "Oh, I'm sure he wouldn't mind my telling you. While attending university his daughter became embroiled in a tawdry romance with a local boy." Judith pursed her lipstick-less lips. "A chef, as I recall. She secretly moved in with him. When Mr. Wickersham found out, he disinherited her. They haven’t spoken since."

"Why--because the young man was a chef and not some razor-tongued, privileged lawyer?"

"No--because only a whore spreads her legs for a man who isn't her husband."

"Are you going to tell Wickersham about the pregnancy?"

Judith shrugged.

“For once in your life, show some compassion,” Kristen said. “Shakira’s never done you harm.”

“Good day, Kristen,” Judith said with a thin smile and left.

Chapter Fifty-Three

Alex shivered in his heavy cloak and made himself a promise. If he ever got back to the twenty-first century, two weeks on the hot sand of some island would be a top priority. He pictured the white sand beach of Antigua and imagined the sun heating his skin.
The warmer the better
.

The last cold front had moved east towards the English Channel, taking the snow flurries with it. The fickle new front produced a bitter and biting wind.

A gust whipped his legs as he dismounted by the outcropping. From the first week, he stayed as long as his stamina allowed him to endure the weather. Each day, he forced himself to tolerate the conditions longer than the day before. Walking, moving, not letting the chill leech into his bones was the key. Today, instead of tethering Thor, he led him in circles around the stone. The movement helped them both stay warm and eased the boredom.