by Lynn Kurland
“I think you should wait for Richard,” Abigail said as she walked to the door. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Who, me?” Jessica asked. She smiled, then shut the door and leaned her forehead against it.
It was one thing to thumb your nose at authority in the twentieth century. Telling your boss to go to hell only ruined your chances for further employment with one company. Richard’s boss was the king. Telling him to go to hell might leave Richard without his head.
And what about his land? What if reappropriations actually went on? If Richard disobeyed the king, he would be out of the home he’d worked so hard on and that would be because of her.
But what was the alternative? He dumped her, married a child, and she hoofed it on over to a convent?
No, thank you.
Or would she just hang around the castle and be his mistress? The thought of that wasn’t very appealing either.
No, knowing Richard, he would buck the system and lose his inheritance. And then where would they go? They would spend the rest of their lives in poverty. And poverty in medieval England was something she’d already seen and wanted no part of.
She couldn’t let him do it.
That knowledge sank into her slowly, relentlessly, like a stone slowly dropping to the bottom of a deep lake. Her spirit plunged right with it. If he didn’t marry who the king said he had to, he would lose everything. He would lose Burwyck-on-the-Sea. He’d finally triumphed over the ghosts of his past and now it would be all in vain, simply because of her?
Maybe Abby and Miles would take her in. After all, Miles was used to women from the future.
She didn’t entertain that thought very long. She would have to go and she would have to go right away. Maybe she could command Hamlet to help her. And once she had gotten out of Artane, she would think more about what to do.
Though she suspected that deep inside, she already knew.
If she could get to 1260, she could get back to 1999.
It looked like her only choice.
36
Richard stretched and wished for anything beneath his backside but a saddle. Indeed, he suspected that once he and Jessica returned to Burwyck-on-the-Sea it would be a long time before he entertained the thought of any long journeys.
“This,” Robin of Artane said in disgust, “this is the very last thing I need.”
Richard looked at his foster father, only to find him wearing a formidable scowl.
“My lord?”
Robin pointed toward his home. The flag bearing Robin’s colors that normally flew from Artane’s tallest tower had been replaced by a more royal one.
The king.
Wonderful, Richard thought sourly.
“I vow ’tis the very last thing I can bear,” Robin growled.
“We could veer off to Scotland,” Phillip offered. “You can hide in my hall for a time, Father, if you like.”
“And face your mother’s wrath when I return? Many thanks, son, but ’twould be far worse for me than having to humor the king for a fortnight.”
“Or two,” Phillip offered. “I think I may bid you adieu now.”
“You won’t,” Robin corrected. “The time will come when such duty is yours. You may as well watch and see how ’tis done.”
“Thank you, Father, but I’ve seen more than I can stomach. I had hoped living so far north would have spared us such visits so often.”
“I told you Scotland would be a prize they would want eventually,” Robin grumbled. “’Twas why I betrothed you to that hellion across the moors. At least then you won’t have a war with your nearest neighbors.”
“I’ve war enough in my bedchamber,” Phillip said dryly. He looked at Richard. “I can only hope you fared better with your betrothed.”
“I have her tamed well enough,” Richard said confidently. “She doesn’t do aught that I haven’t told her to do.”
Robin choked, then barked out a laugh. “Ah, Richard, you poor lad.”
Richard stiffened, hoping he looked unaffected by his lord’s brief mirth. “I’ve poured much energy into training her.”
The other two men looked at him for a moment or two, then threw back their heads and laughed. Richard was grateful for the lessening of their heavy hearts, but he sincerely wished it had not come at his expense.
“I have,” he repeated firmly. “And it hasn’t been time misspent, either.”
Neither Robin nor Phillip said anything more, but Richard suspected the watering of their eyes said a great deal about their belief of his words. He frowned and turned his mind to something less unsettling, such as the king’s visit.
“What do you think he wants?” Richard asked.
“To torment me as long as possible, then leave me without anything to eat for the winter,” Robin said grimly. “What else?”
What else indeed? Richard couldn’t imagine, but he had the feeling it just couldn’t be good.
• • •
By the time they had washed the grime from their hands and faces in the horse trough and entered the great hall, Richard wanted nothing more than to find his bed—preferably with Jessica in it. And once he’d slept away his grief and weariness, he would remain locked with his lady until he’d satisfied his heart and body. Then and only then would he descend and try to do what he could to aid his former lord and lady. Now ’twas all he could do to think of himself.
The hall had been turned into a temporary court, full of Henry’s furnishings and his retainers. Richard knew there was no possible way to slip past the king without being noticed. He resigned himself to a very long afternoon. It made him wish once again that he had not been the eldest son. There was much to be said for having the freedom to roam about the countryside as one wished, dancing no attendance on any monarch.
Richard knew that Robin couldn’t be overly pleased to have returned home and found his keep overrun with Henry’s court. The political intrigues aside, the louts ate as if there were no tomorrow. And Richard, thanks to Jessica’s foreknowledge, knew that indeed there would be many tomorrows and ’twould be in Robin’s best interest to protect his larder.
Richard searched the crowd for Jessica but saw her not. He did see, though, the lady Anne and she looked worn indeed. By the way Robin hastened immediately to her side, Richard suspected his former lord knew very well what his wife had borne in his absence. The saints only knew how long the king had been there already.
Richard spent a great portion of the afternoon looking for a place to sit. He leaned against various walls, tried to intimidate several of Henry’s lackeys into vacating their seats at the table (regrettably without success), and dreaded the moment when he would hear his name called and find himself facing whatever doom Henry had in mind for him that afternoon.
“Our lord de Galtres.”
The call came neither sooner nor later than Richard had expected. He swallowed his irritation and bowed before his king.
And he wished, not for the first time, that he were back in Italy, lying naked in the sun and eating sweet grapes from the vine.
He felt certain Jessica would have enjoyed it as well.
Richard sighed as silently as he could, walked up to the dais, and went down on one knee. He didn’t trust Henry, but that was no reason to anger the man foolishly. What he wanted to do was tell the king he was just too busy to chat now and that he’d send a messenger ’round to His Majesty when it was convenient, but one didn’t do what one wanted when faced with monarchy.
“My liege,” Richard said, bowing his head.
“Arise, Lord Richard. We will speak to you.”
Richard arose. “Aye, Majesty?” Richard would have appreciated a chair beneath his backside. He hoped he would not soon find the floor there.
“I am reminded that ’tis far past time you were wed.”
Richard had nothing to say to that. Henry had been presenting him with all manner of brides for three years now. Richard had always managed to escape his king’s noose�
�and a good thing it was, else he wouldn’t have been free to wed with Jessica.
“My liege,” Richard began.
“And as your good fortune would have it,” Henry continued as if he hadn’t heard Richard, “we brought our godniece with us.”
“What?” Richard asked.
“A bride for you, Lord Richard,” Henry said, waving expansively toward the other end of the table. “We have chosen our godniece.”
A child was standing up.
Richard blinked stupidly. Henry’s godniece? Richard stared at the child still standing. By the saints, she couldn’t have been more than ten! Never mind that he himself had considered taking a child to bride before. This was a babe barely weaned!
Besides, he already had a bride he had no intention of giving up.
“Lady Anne,” Henry boomed, “our good lord de Galtres seems overcome by his good fortune. Perhaps you would see him to Artane’s solar. He’ll likely wish to celebrate. We’ll have the wedding on the morrow.”
“Wedding?” Richard asked. “But—”
“Your cousin, the lady Jessica, agreed ’twas a fine match.”
“Cousin?” Richard echoed.
“She spoke to us of her having found refuge with you for a time. We will see her properly returned to her kin in France. Nothing must interrupt your nuptials.”
“Wedding?” Richard asked. “And Jessica agreed?”
“Of course,” Henry said sharply. “Why wouldn’t she?”
Why indeed? Richard unclenched his fists and looked for his errant lady. There would be no wedding on the morrow—and not because Richard was already betrothed. The reason would be that he was too busy hanging from Henry’s heaviest noose for murder.
Jessica’s murder, for when he had her alone, he was going to do her in.
How could she have done something so foolish?
He could hardly find words to express his astonishment, or his irritation. Jessica had agreed? Bloody hell, the wench had gone daft!
“Lord Richard?” The king did not sound pleased.
“I crave time, Your Majesty,” Richard blurted out. “To travel to Burwyck-on-the-Sea and procure a wedding gift. A se’nnight. No more.”
“Wedding gift?” Henry echoed. He stroked his chin. “And that would be?”
Richard racked his brain for something that Henry might covet. He closed his eyes briefly, then made himself spit out the words as quickly as his tongue would allow.
“Chess pieces, Your Majesty, made of fine and cunning workmanship. A gift for the king, in return for his goodness.”
“Ah, well, then,” Henry boomed, “a se’nnight is a short time. Depart immediately, my lord. We will wait.”
Richard bowed and backed away. He didn’t bother with Jessica, but went straight to John.
“Get Jessica outside in half an hour, dressed for riding. We leave as soon as the men can be gathered.”
“Don’t cross him,” John warned.
“Bloody hell,” Richard snarled, “I’m not going to wed with a child. I’m already wed!”
“That will not stop the king. Richard, think what you stand to lose!”
“I am thinking. Have the men ready within the half hour. And find that wretched woman of mine!”
• • •
It was longer than half an hour before Richard realized that Jessica was nowhere to be found. Neither was Hamlet.
These were not welcome tidings.
Richard was pacing up and down in front of the stalls, swearing furiously, when he paced straight into Robin’s sister-in-law Abigail. Richard put his hands behind his back and scowled down at her.
“My lady,” he snarled.
She held up her hands in surrender. “I tried to dissuade her.”
“Dissuade her,” Richard echoed. “From what?”
Abigail took a deep breath. “She left two days ago.”
“Please do not tell me she went alone.”
“With Sir Hamlet.”
“Damn him!” Richard thundered. “What was he thinking? And what was Anne thinking to let her go?” He rounded on Abigail. “And what were you thinking to keep her secret—as I assume you are the one to have aided her in this subterfuge.”
Abigail only looked at him calmly. “She did what she believed right. I tried to convince her to wait for you, but she wouldn’t.”
Richard gritted his teeth. “And why not?”
“She feared you would lose your lands if you disobeyed the king.”
“I am already wed! And to Jessica, no less.”
Abigail only smiled grimly. “Noble words, my lord, but I doubt the king would care overmuch for them.”
“Where did she go?” Richard demanded, ignoring her words.
Abigail took a deep breath. “Home, my lord.”
Richard blinked, then felt his heart race. “Home?”
“If she can. Who knows what is possible?”
“You can’t mean—”
“I do,” Abigail said quietly. “Back where she came from. When she came from.”
Richard shut his mouth and stared at the woman in front of him for several moments in silence. He’d not known Miles very well, nor had he had much discourse with Abigail either, but now he almost wished he had. He’d always thought there was something odd about the woman. Was it possible that she, too, was from the future?
“Are you . . .” he began hesitantly.
“I am.”
“Did you ever try . . .”
“Never. I don’t know if it can be done.”
Richard let out a hearty breath of relief. “I’ll stop her before she manages it.”
“And then, my lord?”
“I will face ‘then’ when I come to it,” Richard said firmly. “Jessica should have known I would do the like.”
“She did. That’s why she left. She didn’t want you to lose your land at the king’s whim.”
Richard shrugged aside her words. He had no intention of following the king’s command, nor did he intend to give up his home.
But that tangle could be unraveled later. Now he had to find Jessica before she did something even more foolish than she already had.
“Please tell Robin that I’m returning immediately to Burwyck-on-the-Sea to procure the king a gift of gratitude,” Richard said to Abigail. “My apologies that I am unable to take leave of him personally.”
“I imagine once he hears what’s gone on, he’ll understand,” Abigail said with a nod.
Richard turned away, called for his men, and sought his horse. With any luck, he would find Jessica before she was either overcome by ruffians or half-starved from having lost her way. Hamlet wouldn’t be much help with the direction they should travel. And if Hamlet valued his life, he would ride very slowly, knowing that Richard would follow.
Damn the woman! What was she thinking?
37
As Jessica bumped along in the saddle, she began to wonder just what she’d been thinking. So defying the king meant Richard would lose everything. Maybe the king could have been convinced to like her. Never mind that she had nothing to her name but the dress she was wearing when she’d come to the Middle Ages. Whatever happened to marrying for love?
She began to wonder if maybe she’d spent too much time in Hamlet’s vicinity.
They’d been traveling for four days and Jessica didn’t feel as if they’d really made very good progress. Hamlet apparently had no sense of direction beyond up and down, so she was basically left to her own devices. She’d been tempted to just try to pop herself back home without any specific launching location, but she hadn’t seen any likely stars.
She ignored the fact that she just hadn’t really wanted to try.
But what she wanted just didn’t enter into it anymore. She had to leave. She had no other choice. How could she stay and ruin Richard’s chances for a good life? He’d said himself that he couldn’t go to France. He hadn’t exactly won any popularity contests there. What were his other choices? Ita
ly? Spain? Places where he had no roots, no round tower to retire to every night, no sea view to enjoy? No legacy to leave his children?
Besides, she was an anachronism. For all she knew, Richard had been destined to marry that little girl and she would be fouling up history if she stayed. Maybe her entire purpose in the Middle Ages had been to soften Richard up so he was good to the wife he was supposed to have.
Somehow, though, all those rationalizations hadn’t done much to motivate her toward any stargazing.
They stopped well before sundown and made camp. Jessica let Hamlet take charge and was perfectly happy to sit by the fire and mope. Maybe she was making a very big mistake . . .
“What was that lay you were beginning to teach me?” Hamlet asked as he sat down across the campfire. “‘I can’t get no satisfaction’?”
Truer words had never been spoken. Jessica sighed as Richard’s guardsman began to sing. What the hell; it was entertaining to listen to Hamlet butcher modern music. Jessica taught him all she could remember of that song, then she turned to a few selected Beatles tunes. Leaving Hamlet to ponder the significance of “She Came In Through The Bathroom Window,” she got up and walked around the perimeter of the little glade in which they’d set up camp.
It was odd how accustomed she’d become to Richard’s time. She remembered vividly the first three days and how uncomfortable the trip to Burwyck-on-the-Sea had seemed. Now she was camping without a second thought. Her mother would have been amazed.
A twig cracked suddenly behind her and she spun around, her hand at her throat. She looked into the gloom.
There was nothing there.
She let out a shaky breath. Too many horror movies. She would definitely have to avoid those when she got back home.
To New York, of course. Not to Burwyck-on-the-Sea.
She tried to ignore the pang just thinking about that gave her. She would be better off in her time. Richard would be better off if she were in her time. It was the best thing to do.
She was still trying to convince herself of that when she lay down in front of the fire and tried to sleep.
• • •
