The More I See You

by Lynn Kurland

  He left the hall, walked through the ill-kept courtyard and into the empty lists. He stood there and stared off into the distance, wondering about the deeper meaning of life and death. It occurred to him that he was very fortunate indeed to have found someone to love.

  And cursed as well. He would not survive it if something happened to Jessica.

  You have that aright.

  Richard spun around, but there was no one there. He could have sworn he’d heard Kendrick say the like to him. He drew his hand over his eyes and shook his head for good measure. He was losing what poor wits remained him, obviously.

  Though he couldn’t help but believe that if he’d just been able to look closely enough, he would have seen his brother-by-affection standing right next to him.

  By the saints, what a tangle.

  Before he could speculate further, the front door burst open and Robin and his company strode angrily from the hall. Richard caught them as they gathered up their horses and made for the outer barbican. It was only after they were all mounted and riding away from the castle that Richard managed to question Robin.

  “What did he say?” Richard asked.

  “He invited me to search the surrounding countryside,” Robin said bitterly, “and see if my eyes were perhaps better than his.”

  Richard found, to his distress, that he could say nothing. Perhaps in time he could speak to Robin of his own thoughts on the matter.

  “We’ll search,” Robin said briskly. “We’ll search until our supplies are gone, then I’ll think on other things.”

  Richard knew in his heart the search would be fruitless, but he chose to keep silent on that as well. Perhaps the searching would aid Robin in purging his grief. Though, looking at him, Richard suspected that there wasn’t anything at all that would help.

  • • •

  A se’nnight later they were riding back the way they had come. Richard had searched as diligently as anyone else in the little army, but his heart hadn’t been in it. He’d passed most of his time trying to imagine how he would feel were he Robin.

  To lose a child? He couldn’t imagine it. Yet he had put his foot to that possible path by wedding his lady.

  But how could he have done anything else?

  The risks were worth the price. He only prayed that if such a loss became his lot in life, he would bear it as well as Robin seemed to.

  Richard looked at Robin, next to whom he rode. “I’m sorry, my lord,” he said, ignoring the emotions that continued to tear at him. “Truly, I am.”

  Robin looked at him, his expression bleak. “I know, Richard.”

  “If only I had stopped him—”

  Robin shook his head. “Richard, my lad, we could break our skulls and our hearts beating them against that rock. You could not make his choice for him. You cannot change what has happened.”

  Richard nodded. He couldn’t, but he wished he could have. He suspected that Robin, in his innermost heart, wished the same thing.

  Richard sighed as he turned the events of the journey over in his mind again. They had found no sign of Kendrick. The more Richard thought on it, the more he suspected the scrap of cloak he’d found must have belonged to someone else. Perhaps York had it aright and Kendrick had been attacked. But the fact that a life could be snuffed out so easily, especially a life as difficult to take as Kendrick’s, unnerved him greatly. He’d seen his friend escape impossible situations and live to laugh about it. Kendrick was skilled and cunning in the arts of war.

  Unlike Jessica.

  That had been all he could think about over the past handful of days. He shuddered to think of what could happen to her. The same apprehension that had seized him after he’d received the tidings of Kendrick’s death returned, infinitely more powerful.

  What would he do if he lost her?

  He could scarce breathe for the thought of it, so he forced himself to turn his mind away from it. He wouldn’t lose her. She hadn’t come hundreds of years out of her time just to have her life end. He would keep her safe and he would keep their children safe.

  He couldn’t bear the thought of anything else.

  35

  Jessica stood on the battlements of the castle and stared out over the sea. It was a stormy day and all but a few hardy souls had sought shelter inside either guard towers or the keep itself. It wasn’t raining yet, but it looked like a cloudburst was imminent. The only other truly crazy person in the whole place stood next to her, looking out over the sea with just as morose an expression.

  “Teenagers,” Abigail said grimly. “Even in the Middle Ages they can drive you crazy. And he’s not even a true teenager yet!”

  Apparently her youngest, a boy named Michael, had just turned ten and had been blessed with an abundance of testosterone. Jessica was perfectly content to listen to Abigail’s stories, though, because they distracted her from her biggest worry, which was whether or not Richard would come home alive.

  “At least you can’t blame it on television.”

  “I blame it on his father and his uncles,” Abigail said with a snort. “Who needs TV when you have a bunch of medieval barbarians going around waving swords and practicing their war cries just for fun?”

  “I heard the tour guide say that a lot of times warlords would make peacetime so miserable for their men that they’d be happy to go to war and have a rest.”

  Abigail shook her head. “They fight just for the entertainment value. It’s a roughhousing bunch. But it wasn’t as if I could keep the kids away. Besides, I wasn’t about to send my boys away to some other castle like a lot of these people do.”

  Jessica blinked. “Why would they do that?”

  “Something about how another man raising your kids makes them tougher. I think it’s crazy. And they send them, both boys and girls, when they’re as young as seven.”

  Jessica made a mental note to tell Richard they would definitely not be sending any of their kids away to medieval boot camp at seven.

  She looked at Abigail and smiled. “You wouldn’t change anything, would you?”

  Abigail shook her head with a sigh. “Not a thing. Miles has been a wonderful husband and he’s done his best to modernize his keep. Well, not so much that people would notice and start to talk. It just makes me wish I’d taken an engineering course or two in college.”

  “This isn’t exactly something you plan for,” Jessica said dryly.

  “I know,” Abigail said glumly. “But when I think about all the times I tried to cut chocolate out of my diet—even worse, all the times I succeeded. If I’d only known I’d never have it again . . .”

  Jessica laughed, then found herself not thinking it was all that funny anymore.

  “Abby,” she said slowly, “are there things you’ve really missed? Serious things?”

  Abigail was silent so long, Jessica began to wonder if she hadn’t asked a bad question. But then the woman who had only been a couple of years older than she in the twentieth century, turned and looked at her. She was smiling, if not a little wistfully.

  “Serious things? Yes. Books. Being able to have medicine at my fingertips—both Eastern and Western. I had a great acupuncturist and I never once tried to figure out what he was doing to me. I just wish I had taken more time to learn things.”

  “We haven’t exactly got a public library down the street,” Jessica agreed.

  Abigail nodded. “And that is the funniest thing of all. Out of all the things I wished I could have gathered up to bring, the only thing I could have brought with me was knowledge. I didn’t have enough pockets or hands for anything else useful. But if I’d known more, I would have been so much more prepared to deal with what has come up over the past twenty years. And,” she added with a sigh, “I miss music. Some of these minstrels are about as soothing as fingernails on a chalkboard.”

  “Maybe that should be my calling,” Jessica said, surprised she was able to smile over it and not weep. The thought of never again hearing a symphony, or a jazz qu
artet, or even a beginning piano student butchering “Chopsticks” . . .

  “Well, at least you could teach them how to tune their lutes.” Abigail shivered. “Unpleasant. Just plain unpleasant.”

  “I would just kill for a piano.”

  “Build one.”

  “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  Abigail smiled. “You have a lifetime to learn, Jessica. And there’s no time like the present to get started.”

  Jessica nodded, then looked back over her shoulder. And she gasped.

  “Abby, what’s that?”

  Abigail looked south as well and groaned. “The king. We knew he was supposed to come up this way, but I was hoping Miles and I could slip out before he got here.”

  “Wonderful—”

  “Just try to stay out of his way,” Abigail advised, “and don’t say much. Let’s go lock ourselves in Anne’s solar for the duration.”

  Jessica wiped a drop of rain off her nose. “I guess it beats standing out here getting soaked.”

  “I can’t tell you how nice it is to hear someone talking like the voices in my head,” Abigail said, linking arms with Jessica and heading toward the battlement door. “You’ll have to come visit—a lot. Miles will love it.”

  “Did you tell him about me?”

  “He guessed.”

  “He didn’t!”

  “Not much gets past the man.”

  Jessica followed Abigail down the stairs, wondering if she shouldn’t be a little more discreet. Then again, Miles lived with Abigail, so he would be more sensitive to any hints that a girl might be from a time other than his.

  Implausible happening that it was.

  They made their way to Anne’s solar and Jessica let herself be swept into Abigail’s wake. She decided that maybe it would be best to watch and learn from someone who had evidently adapted very well to the time period. Talk about blooming where she was planted! Jessica sat in a corner, tried to look unobtrusive, and gave a great deal of thought to what Abigail had said about her only regrets. Jessica couldn’t help but agree. Even if she had the chance to pop back to the future for a few days just to gather up everything she might miss for the rest of her life, there wouldn’t be a moving truck large enough to haul it for her. Probably the best she could hope for was time to study and an improved memory.

  Though she dearly would have loved a few CDs and something to play them on.

  She sat back and tried not to think about that.

  • • •

  A week later Jessica had a full understanding of why Richard had no desire to entertain Henry at his hall—and she understood why he’d been so offended over her comments about his peasants. They really did live very frugally at Burwyck-on-the-Sea when compared to the excesses the king’s entourage seemed to demand every day. Jessica couldn’t have said whether or not it was the king behind the demands; maybe it was what he was accustomed to. All she did know was that the reason he traveled so much was that his group was on a continual hunt for something to eat. Exhaust the supplies at one place, move on to the next. She wondered what Robin and Anne would have left to eat after the king had consumed all their winter stores. How would she and Richard manage it if Henry decided to pay them a visit?

  Wondering how she and Richard might feed the king, however, became the very least of her worries and it all had to do with the conversation she overheard the week of Henry’s visit. She had been on the lookout for Abby, having promised her a recounting of all the good Hollywood gossip she could remember, when she heard her name mentioned from inside Anne’s solar. She wasn’t an eavesdropper by nature, but the way her name was said made her stop in her tracks. She wasn’t about to announce her presence.

  “Amanda, not so loud,” Anne was saying. “Jessica knows nothing of it, and it isn’t our place to tell her.”

  “But ’tis the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard of!” Anne’s sister-in-law said scornfully. “The babe is but eight years old!”

  Jessica couldn’t for the life of her understand what an eight-year-old could possibly have to do with her, but she had the feeling she wouldn’t like it at all when she figured it out.

  “The king has made his wishes clear. What can Richard do?”

  “He can tell the king to go to hell—”

  “Hush,” Anne said sharply. “I’m sure he would like to do just that.”

  “Then he should! What does he care for the king’s wishes?”

  “He cares because he wants his land, sister. As do we all.”

  Amanda snorted. “As if Robin ever bent his knee willingly.”

  “Robin learned very well from his father how the dance is danced,” Anne answered. “And there is much he would do to keep his land.”

  “I daresay, sister, that he would not go so far as to give you up.”

  Jessica was certain she had just felt the floor give way beneath her. In fact, she was certain she would have fallen with it if someone hadn’t just grabbed her by the arm to keep her upright. Jessica looked behind her. It was Abigail, looking as shocked as she herself felt.

  “Oh, Amanda,” Anne said with a sigh, “I don’t know what Robin would—”

  “He would tell the king to go to hell!” Amanda retorted sharply. “How can you doubt that?”

  “I don’t,” Anne said softly.

  “They are already wed,” Amanda said. “There is nothing Henry can do.”

  “He can threaten to take Richard’s lands. You know Henry has been seeking to wed one of his relatives to Richard since his return to England. If he thinks Richard has disobeyed him, there is much he will do to punish him.”

  Amanda muttered something not quite audible.

  “He could purchase a special dispensation from the pope, of course.”

  Amanda sighed. “’Tis a pity. I like Richard’s Jessica very much.”

  “I like her as well.”

  “Did you see how he looked at her before he left? By the saints, she has him tamed well.”

  “It won’t serve her.”

  “Richard needn’t wed with an eight-year-old child.”

  “The king has decreed it.”

  Amanda snorted loudly. “Neither Robin nor Nicholas cater overmuch to His Majesty—”

  “The king also knows that coming against either of them would be foolishness,” Anne said dryly. “Phillip could bring down a legion of Scots, Nicholas holds Wyckham, and Robin could easily call on Blackmour. We have a dozen other allies who wouldn’t think twice about coming to our aide against the whole of England. Richard is too far away for us to help him quickly enough. He has alienated Gilbert’s sire—”

  “Because Gilbert almost killed her!”

  “It matters not.”

  “Gilbert’s sire would aid him just to avoid Richard’s justifiable wrath.”

  “Amanda, the fact is Richard has few friends and he doesn’t need to make an enemy of the king.”

  “So you think he should marry that whining babe?”

  “Of course not. But what else can he do?”

  Jessica looked back over her shoulder to see not only Abigail, but Sir Hamlet as well. She brushed past them and made her way to the tower room then heard them coming behind her, but she couldn’t look back. She was afraid if she didn’t get herself behind a closed door very soon, she would lose it in the hallway and then who knew who would see.

  They both followed her into the tower chamber. Jessica walked to the window and looked down over the courtyard.

  “Is it true?” she asked, not caring who answered.

  “In theory,” Abigail said hesitantly.

  Jessica turned to look at her. “But it’s Richard’s land.”

  Abigail shook her head. “No, it’s actually the king’s land. Richard holds it by virtue of the king’s good will.” She looked at Hamlet, then back at Jessica. “It’s more complicated than that, but that’s the bottom line. It’s quite possible that if Henry were angry enough, he would take away Richard’s lands.”<
br />
  Jessica looked at Hamlet. Hamlet, for a change, seemed to have nothing to say. She turned back to Abigail.

  “What do you think I should do?”

  “Wait and talk to Richard,” Abigail said without hesitation. “Don’t go making any rash decisions. He might be able to talk to the king and let him know you two are already married.”

  “And if he does that, he might lose everything.”

  “There is that.”

  Jessica sighed and looked at Hamlet. “I don’t suppose you have any suggestions.”

  “I believe it was women’s gossip,” he said dismissively. “It means naught.”

  But he didn’t look much more convinced than Abigail. Jessica sighed.

  “I want your vow of silence,” she said. “Not one word about what we just heard.”

  Hamlet actually squirmed. “But, lady—”

  “I mean it, Hamlet.” She drew the knife from her belt and waved it at him threateningly. “Not one word.”

  Hamlet paused, then nodded miserably.

  “Say it.”

  “I will remain silent,” he said, crossing himself. “By the saints, I’m a daft fool.”

  “Be any kind of fool you want to be, just don’t blab. I need a nap. Why don’t you go talk to Robin’s minstrel. I think he needs some instruction on how to sing a proper romantic chanson.”

  Bless the man, he could be tempted with the smallest hint of romance. He made her a low bow, looked at her once more to see if she was serious, then hurried off. Jessica was left to face Abigail.

  “How binding is a betrothal agreement?” she asked.

  “It’s a marriage, Jessica. Unless Henry can wangle an annulment . . .”

  Jessica felt sick inside. Could the king do that? Admittedly, both she and Richard hadn’t exactly been compos mentis at the time, but she wasn’t going to quibble. Besides, the marriage had already been consummated—if that counted for anything in these crazy times.

  “I need some time to think,” she said to Abigail. “I’ve got to decide what to do.”