[1997] Once and Future Love

by Anne Kelleher

  Richard nodded in acknowledgment, grasping arms, shaking hands, patting backs. These were the men to whom he owed his life. He remembered how he’d felt when he was a young attorney, an associate in a huge law firm. There was the same holiday air about the firm when a big case was won or settled to a client’s advantage. But in this case, the advantage was their own lives—his and the other men’s.

  And Eleanor’s. He stood before her chair, reached down, and took her hand. With a gesture inspired by a hundred books and movies, he bent his head and kissed the back. Flustered, she started and colored.

  “My lord!”

  “You look well today, my lady. I hope you got enough rest?” He couldn’t resist teasing her in front of the priest.

  She looked so pretty sitting beside the fire, her cheeks flushed rosy. Her hair was drawn back beneath her coif, and it emphasized her high cheekbones and little pointed chin. Her eyes were clear and very blue, and as he smiled down into them, he felt a wave of gratitude for her bravery, and a flood of desire in his veins. She was quite an extraordinary woman.

  “I—I did, my lord,” she said, as her color flushed even deeper. “Father Ambrose has come to shrive Sir Geoffrey and we shall hold his funeral mass tomorrow.”

  Richard nodded, turning to the priest. “My thanks, good Father.” He wondered briefly, fleetingly, if it were worth asking the priest about his situation, and dismissed the thought at once. This was the era of the Inquisition, wasn’t it? “Sir Geoffrey was a fine man. I’ll miss him.”

  The priest sniffed, his thin nostrils flaring. “Perhaps, my lord.”

  Richard exchanged a glance with Eleanor. So the priest didn’t think much of Richard’s second-in-command. He wondered what Eleanor thought of Geoffrey, and realized she was as likely to voice an opinion about that as she was to sprout wings and fly.

  “Will you sit, my lord?” She gestured to the large chair beside the fire.

  He sat down as Eleanor signaled to Ursula. Almost immediately a tray appeared before him covered with bread and cheese and slices of dried apples. He reached for the goblet of ale and drank, and tried to cover his grimace. He wasn’t sure he wanted to stay in the 13th century if he had to get used to ale for breakfast. At least his body wasn’t addicted to caffeine, although he still craved the scent and taste of coffee.

  “And so, Lord Richard, will you speak to the Welshman?” The priest leaned forward. His black robes hung on his thin frame, and Richard was tempted to ask the man if he got enough to eat.

  “Of course, Father. The Marshal charged me with establishing peace along this section of the marches. I have no choice but to obey.”

  The priest narrowed his eyes. “Peace? After what was done…” He raised his brows and bit his lip. “You intend to make peace, now, with Llewellis?”

  “Is it so difficult to believe that there could be peace?”

  The priest sniffed again. “Our lord teaches us that peace is always possible, my lord, and so I believe it. But to be truthful, if I may, I find the possibility that the parties to the peace will adhere to any agreement very difficult to believe.” The priest gave Richard a pointed stare.

  Eleanor glanced nervously at him, and Richard knew she was waiting for him to react the way her husband doubtless had reacted on many occasions. He paused, considering his response. What was there to say? Doubtless the priest was right, based on what he knew of the old Richard. And what if he were to return to the future, by design or the same sort of accident that had brought him in here…‌would the old Richard come back? Troubled, he pushed his plate away and got to his feet. “I understand your concern, Father.” He bowed briefly to Eleanor and walked out of the hall.

  Eleanor stared at his retreating back. How unlike Richard…‌or was it? She’d expected some biting remark, and apparently the priest had as well, for Father Alphonse was watching Richard with a look of surprise on his face. “Hm,” the priest murmured. “Perhaps Lord Richard’s brush with mortality has altered his way of living.”

  That’s what Ursula had said. Eleanor’s gaze moved from Richard’s disappearing form into the flames. He was so different. So very different. Even his way of lovemaking…‌She consciously pushed such thoughts out of her mind as she felt her face grow warm. But memories of this morning persisted. He did things he’d never done before, made love to her in ways she’d never experienced. Could his brush with mortality have really made him a more sensitive, generous lover as well as a better man in general? The thought of Father Alphonse’s reaction to that made her giggle in spite of everything. She pressed a hand to her mouth and tried to stifle it.

  “My lady?” he asked, his tone one of genuine concern. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “I’m fine, but I think I’d better go check on Richard. He was not at all well last night, and he was so tired this morning.” With only the barest of curtseys, she excused herself and hurried off to find him.

  The bedroom and the solar were empty. Puzzled, she retrieved her cloak from the hook behind the door, and, wrapping it around herself, she climbed to the battlements at the very top of the tower.

  She found him leaning against the stones, staring out over the wintry landscape. He gave her a crooked smile when he saw her, but didn’t speak. “My—my lord? Are you quite well?”

  “Of course. Forgive me if I seemed abrupt with the priest.” He smiled, but his gaze didn’t linger.

  Richard turned back to stare across the landscape. If he left this time, and returned to his own, what would happen to Eleanor? What would happen to all these people who trusted him and relied upon him? Would the old Richard adhere to a peace he had no part in making? And what would the reaction of the people here be, if the old Richard insisted he had no memory of it?

  Would he be declared insane? Possessed? Richard sighed. If only he had Lucy’s knowledge, Lucy’s insights. But all he had to go on were the bits and pieces he could remember, and his knowledge of human nature. Which, he believed, hadn’t changed much at all. Loyalty was still loyalty, greed was still greed, even if the things that motivated such emotions had changed drastically.

  “What troubles you, my lord?” Eleanor had come to stand beside him.

  He glanced down at her. She seemed so fragile, so vulnerable in some ways, and yet, so strong in others. Her cloak was much patched and a pang of guilt went through him. Her robe had been ragged, too. In fact, all her clothes were patched and worn. The women who thronged the court of William the Marshal had been much better dressed. “You must have some new clothes,” he said.

  She blinked in astonishment. “Clothes?”

  “Yes, new ones. AII the ones you wear are worn and patched. Do you have any others? Or are these the only ones you’ve got?” He touched a patch on her cloak. He had noticed that his clothes were in a much better state of repair.

  She flushed. “There is no need—”

  “Eleanor,” he said, stopping her with a finger on her lips. “It’s not about money. If we can’t afford the finest of silks and velvets—well, you can still be dressed decently. Look how you’re shivering.” He wrapped an arm around and drew her close. “That cloak is scarcely enough in this cold.”

  He felt her yield against him, although she still stared up at him in surprise and something else—something that might be hope. He wanted so badly to change all that. What if he made her love him, and then he went back to the future? What would he leave her with?

  “We—Father Alphonse and I—were concerned. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  He sighed. How to explain his general feelings of confusion, that this quite possibly was only a dream? “Eleanor,” he began. “I—I hope you believe that I do want to make peace with the Welsh—that it’s not my intention to break any agreements we come to, and I will see that Hugh comes home. Safely.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “I hope so…‌we all hope so, my lord,” she whispered.

  He wrapped both arms around her. The words were poised on
the tip of his tongue. It would be so easy to tell her he loved her. But would it be fair?

  She raised her face and looked at him. “Yes?” For the first time, he saw trust in her eyes. If he

  went back…‌he would lose her twice. The thought of enduring her loss a second time made his heart clench in his chest. Then why go back? He asked himself. If so much depends upon me here and now, why even try?

  He pulled her even closer and buried his face in her neck, feeling her yield as he nuzzled her soft, white skin. He’d known from the moment he’d first awakened in this new place that something drastic had happened. He remembered the sound of the crack as he’d fallen. It all was so distinct—that sharp crack and then nothing. Nothing until this. He turned his head and kissed her.

  She responded immediately, arching up against him, her body pressing close to his. Through the layers of clothing, he could feel the heat of her flesh, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to be part of her. He looked around. “Come.”

  Where are we going?”

  He grinned. “I’m tired and I need more rest.”

  “Rest?” She laughed out loud. “You hardly look as though you have rest in mind, my lord.”

  He grinned. “Oh? And what have you in mind, my lady?”

  She giggled. “I think we both need rest.”

  He pulled her close and whispered, before he kissed her once more, “We will need rest, my lady. I promise you, we will.”

  CHAPTER 15

  “What?” Hugh cried in disbelief. He stalked across the hall to the hearth, where the messenger stood impassively.

  “Lord de Lambert and Prince Llewellis have reached agreement, my lord. You’re to be returned to the custody of your sister and her husband at noon on the morrow, and Prince Llewellis will be released.” The messenger smiled. “You’ll be home for Christmas, young lord. Doesn’t that make you glad?”

  Hugh ran his fingers through his hair. A feeling of desperation and disbelief swept through him. How could this happen? A treaty? An agreement of peace? The Welsh would stay on their side of the border, and Richard would stay on his, and he would most likely never see Angharad again. He looked over to the hearth, where she still knelt over the chess board. “I won’t go.”

  The messenger glanced at Angharad and then back at Hugh. “I beg your pardon?” He spoke as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.

  Angharad leaped to her feet. “Go and tell your lord you’ve delivered your message and brought us good news indeed, sir messenger.”

  The messenger glanced from one to the other again. “As you will it, my lady.”

  “What’s wrong with you, Hugh?” she whispered. She grabbed his hand and gave it a little shake. “What on earth do you mean, you won’t go?”

  “I don’t want to leave you and go back to that—that monster. Do you have any idea what my life is like there? He treats me like a stableboy—or a dog. And that henchman of his, Geoffrey—” Hugh broke off. He stalked away to stand beside the fire. He slammed his fist into the mantel.

  The few people in the hall looked at him curiously, and Angharad looked back at them and glared. “Hugh—” she said. “What makes you think things will be that bad?”

  “Because they are that bad,” he said. “And it’s likely I’ll be shipped off to some other lord’s household, some place far away and then…” His voice trailed off and he looked miserable.

  Angharad wet her lips. “And then what?”

  “We’ll probably never see each other again, Angharad. That’s what.” He met her eyes with a stubborn set to his shoulders. “Is that what you want?”

  An unexpected pang went through her. Never see Hugh again? In the last weeks he’d become her friend, her companion. A saucy retort rose and died on her lips. This was serious. This was real. “No,” she replied at last, her voice low. “It isn’t what I want.”

  He caught her in his arms, heedless that anyone saw them. Angharad glanced around. They were alone. “Then come away with me. Come to Normandy—to Aquitaine. We’ll make our own way. It will be hard but I can fight—”

  She pulled away. “Don’t be ridiculous, Hugh. You know as well as I that will never work. Llewellis will hunt us both down—kill you and put me in a convent. And I most definitely don’t want that.” She shivered, thinking of her brother’s rare yet formidable rages.

  “Then what are we to do?” He stared at her, despair in every line of his face and fold of his body. “I love you, Angharad. And I don’t care what anyone else thinks of that but you. Now. Do you love me?”

  She drew a breath. Feelings raged through her. There was no one like Hugh. He was funny and kind and such good company. And good-looking too, in a young, half-formed sort of way. When he’d finished growing and his form finished filling out…”Well,” she said. “Yes. I suppose I do. But what you don’t want to understand is that that isn’t going to matter. And you must return. For only then will de Lambert allow my brother to come home. And we need him—his people need him. He is our prince.”

  “And what of us?” Hugh pulled her close, so that she could feel the strength of his young body through the bulky clothes she wore against the cold. “What about this?” Before she could stop him, his mouth came down on hers in a greedy kiss, a kiss made hard and demanding by desperation.

  She stiffened momentarily, and then a hot tide of passion swept through her, flooding all her senses, until she clung to him, limp, and returned his kiss with all the strength she could muster.

  Richard glanced up as Eleanor came into the bedroom. Her hair was in the loose plaits she wore to bed, and she had on the ragged robe of faded silk. “Why do you wear that?” he asked. “That’s the worse of everything you wear.”

  “It was my mother’s,” she said, clutching it close as if afraid he would rip it off her. “It’s the one thing I have that always makes me feel her close to me. I hope you don’t mind that I wear it.”

  “No, of course not.” If it gave her some feeling of connection to her mother, of course he didn’t mind…‌so long as she wore it out of choice, and not necessity. He only hated to see her dressed so poorly. The state of her clothes irked him more and more, but Eleanor said that until the spring fairs and market days opened once more, there was little chance of acquiring much in the way of fabrics. Except for those she made herself.

  “How is Hugh?” he asked, watching her face carefully as she continued to finger her hair. She wore a puckered frown. “I’m not sure. He seems so upset. Not at all glad to be home. I can’t understand it . Barland is his home.”

  The boy had been barely civil to them both. Richard guessed that there was a fair amount of animosity between Hugh and his brother-in-law, and hadn’t allowed the boy’s sullenness to bother him. He remembered dealing with his own sons’ adolescence all too well.

  But to Eleanor Hugh had been just as sullen, just as sulky. His behavior in fact had bordered on rude. And Eleanor had seemed hurt and shocked. Surely there was no reason to treat his sister that way. She’d risked much to get him back safely without crippling the manor that supported them all. For that matter, he thought, so had he. Hardy though his constitution was, he had risked his health to ride the distance to the Marshal. And he could have died if Eleanor and Sir John hadn’t shown up. He sighed softly. “Boys are moody animals, my lady. I was one myself, after all, not so very long ago.”

  She shrugged and didn’t meet his eyes, as if she dared not get the joke. “Doubtless.” She looked at him with a little glance that made him wonder if she maybe she did, after all. “But I don’t understand why he acted the way he did toward me. He barely greeted me. And he said nothing at all at dinner.”

  Eleanor had gone to a great deal of trouble preparing a welcome feast. “It was delicious,” he said, hoping to make her feel better.

  “Thank you.” She sighed and removed her robe. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, at least.”

  “We all enjoyed it,” he said, moving aside in the big bed, and holding o
ut his arms. “Everyone ate and ate—even Hugh. Didn’t you notice he filled his plate three times?”

  She smiled. “I—I don’t think I did. I can’t understand why he’s acting the way he is.”

  “Perhaps something happened to him—with the Welsh?” Richard wondered if it was a possibility that the boy had been molested. Did such things happen in the thirteenth century? Of course they did, he thought with grim realization. Human nature hadn’t changed.

  “Like what?” She looked at him with wide, innocent eyes.

  “I—I don’t know. Some unpleasantness perhaps? Something he doesn’t want to talk about?” How

  else to put it delicately?

  “That’s possible,” Eleanor sighed, slipped into bed and blew out the candle on the table beside the bed.

  Richard thought for a moment. “Let’s give him a few days to settle in. And then perhaps you can try to talk to him? Perhaps he just needs a few days to get used to things here again.”

  Eleanor glanced at the shadowy form beside her. Perhaps, she thought, he needs a few days to discover how different you are. It had crossed her mind more than once that Hugh’s displeasure was directly connected to the fact that Richard seemed so hale and hearty. He clearly wasn’t going to die. “I suppose that is what we must do, my lord. And then we must discuss his future.”

  Richard rose on one elbow. “What about his future?”

  Eleanor stared back. “Well, where he is to go, for one thing. Geoffrey used to say it was long past time for Hugh to be sent away, and to be honest, I see now that he was right. It is.”

  Richard lay back against his pillows, his mind racing. Here was something he couldn’t rely on muscle memory to do. He’d known vaguely that boys of Hugh’s class were sent away from home. He had no idea, however, how to arrange such a thing. Where was Hugh supposed to go? And who was he to approach? William the Marshal, perhaps? Was that the logical place to begin—or was it too minute a matter with which to bother that important lord?