[1997] Once and Future Love

by Anne Kelleher

“She’s not being asked to testify against him,” the King replied. “This is not a trial. This is only an inquiry to determine if there should be a trial. She may speak.”

  Stephen Langton looked at Eleanor. “Lady,” he said, and his voice was unexpectedly gentle. “Have you had concerns regarding your husband’s soul?”

  “I—I did.” She glanced at Richard. His head was down and he looked defeated.

  “And did you speak to a priest?”

  “I spoke to Father Caedmun.”

  “And what did he tell you?”

  “That my fears were unfounded. That the changes I noticed in my husband could be attributed to the seriousness of the injuries he suffered in the autumn. And that I should not worry.”

  The Archbishop nodded. “Thank you, my lady.” He glanced around. “I would like some time to confer with my advisors before I pronounce in this matter.” He rose to his feet and Giscard Fitzwilliam burst through the crowd.

  “I demand a trial by combat!”

  Langton looked down his nose at the man before him. “What?”

  “If he’s innocent, let him prove it to us all. If he’s not, God will give me the victory and send his soul to hell.”

  There was a general roar from the crowd and the men on the dais glanced at each other. The Marshal leaned forward, a dangerous look on his face, and the king spoke in the archbishop’s ear. The two men appeared to exchange a few sentences and then the archbishop motioned to William. The three men conferred briefly. William shook his head violently once or twice. He leaned toward John and spoke rapidly. Langton stepped between the two men, a hand on both their chests. He said something to each man, and finally William shrugged and stepped back, shaking his head. He strode off the dais without a backward glance and Eleanor stared after him in dismay.

  The Archbishop of Canterbury stood on the edge of the dais. He raised his hands for silence. “Good people. The judgment of the court is this. Three days hence, this inquiry will be placed in the hands of God. At the tenth hour on that morning, Richard de Lambert and Giscard Fitzwilliam will meet upon the field of honor. And there the Lord himself shall judge in this matter. May God have mercy on their souls.” He crossed himself, sketched a rapid blessing over the crowd, and strode off the dais after William.

  Eleanor sank onto her bench, her shoulders shaking. Trial by combat? The crowd surged forward, and the guards closed around Richard.

  “Come,” Father Caedmun spoke urgently. “We’ve got to get her out of here.”

  Somehow, leaning on her brother, Eleanor managed to escape the pressing crush of bodies. They brought her to the small suite of rooms William had found for her, not far from his own apartments. She stood before the hearth, staring into the empty grate, still unable to comprehend all that she’d heard.

  “Eleanor?” Hugh held out a goblet of wine. “Here. Drink this.”

  Automatically she swallowed it. He refilled it and she swallowed that too.

  “Easy, boy,” said Father Caedmun. “We don’t want the lady drunk.”

  She looked at the priest and laughed. “Drunk? That doesn’t sound like such a bad idea. If I’m drunk at least I won’t know. I won’t know if my husband’s dead. I won’t know if Giscard has his way—I won’t have to know—” Her laughter dissolved into tears. She sank to her knees on the worn rug. “It’s my fault, all my fault, don’t you see? If I hadn’t said those things to Marguerite, Giscard would never have known.” Tears ran down her cheeks and her whole body shook.

  Father Caedmun glanced helplessly at Hugh. “My lady, my lady, please don’t take on so. There’s no need to blame yourself.”

  “Fizwilliam was looking for a way to bring Richard down, Eleanor,” said Hugh. “It’s not much comfort maybe, but it’s true. You meant nothing by it. I know he’s changed, everyone’s noticed it. And who is to say Giscard wouldn’t have tried this one, anyway?”

  “But all the things he said,” Eleanor protested. “They’re all lies. Richard never worshiped any pagan idol—there aren’t any on Barland.”

  “Oh,” said Hugh, looking embarrassed. “But there is. There’s a cairn about an hour’s ride or so, near the Welsh border. I’ve been there myself.”

  “Hugh!” Eleanor looked shocked. “How can you have done such a thing?”

  “I didn’t say I was worshiping there, Eleanor. I said I found it. Where do you think I was all the time I was avoiding Richard and his henchmen?”

  Eleanor sighed. She got to her feet. “I—I need to rest, I think.”

  Father Caedmun nodded. He looked relieved. “You do that, my lady. I will look in on you later.” He patted her hand. “The Lord will prevail here, I promise you. Have faith.” The priest was gone with a soft swish of robes.

  Hugh looked at Eleanor. “Shall I leave you, too?”

  “No, you stay, Hugh.” Eleanor looked at her brother. She didn’t trust him not to go after Giscard and attack him. And that would be a terrible mistake. She rubbed her temples. “Do you remember when you were younger, and you used to brush my hair?”

  He grinned, looking embarrassed. “Of course I do. Would you like me to do that now?”

  “Yes.”

  He got her brushes and she sat before the fire, her arms wrapped around her knees. She sighed as he drew the brush slowly through her long hair. “I’m sorry, Eleanor.”

  “For what?”

  “De Lambert was a beast of a man. He’s changed, and I’m afraid I wasn’t very nice to him after I came back from Wales.”

  “No, you weren’t,” she agreed.

  “Or to you.” Hugh hesitated and went on. “But the real enemy is Giscard. He always was. I guess I lost sight of that. And I’m sorry.”

  Eleanor closed her eyes. Please God, she prayed, spare Richard and keep him safe. Be with him in his hour of need. If only she could see him, talk to him. He hadn’t looked as if he were angry with her today. But she missed him. She missed him terribly. She hadn’t even told him about the child. The thought of spending the rest of her life without him made her drop her head to her knees and weep slow, sad tears.

  Richard sat on the narrow cot that served as his bed. He’d paced the confines of the small room endlessly in the last weeks, and now all he could feel was confusion and exhaustion. Trial by combat? He’d hoped that they would let him speak. He thought this morning that perhaps he’d have a chance to answer his accusers with accusations of his own. But William the Marshal had warned him he probably wasn’t going to be given much of a chance to say anything. Except to lose his temper when the ridiculous charges were read.

  But this was the thirteenth century, and there was no doubt that the charges weren’t considered absurd at all. No more absurd than the idea that the matter could be resolved with swords. He rubbed his wrists where the bonds had rubbed his skin raw. Swords. Armor. Fighting. He wasn’t the best fighter at all. Sir John knew it. What would Geoffrey de Courville say if he’d been alive to testify? Geoffrey was loyal to his lord, but he would be compelled to tell the truth. And the truth was—the old Richard hadn’t just changed. He was gone.

  There was a stir at the door and he got to his feet. He was surprised to see William the Marshal enter. In the last weeks, William had visited him twice. “My lord.”

  William looked grim. “I’m sorry, Richard.”

  “It isn’t your fault.”

  “I wish I’d known the extent of Giscard’s envy. I’d no idea he’d go this far.”

  “Neither did I,” said Richard.

  “That doesn’t matter now. Can you be ready to fight in three days?”

  “I have to be,” answered Richard. “Or nothing will matter.”

  William met his eyes and held them. “I won’t let Giscard win this, you know that. You need have no worries on that score. Barland won’t fall into his hands—or your wife, either. If I have to marry her myself.”

  Richard gave a wry smile. “My thanks.”

  William eyed him up and down. “I suppose I would like
to ask you one thing, though. By all accounts, you have changed. You aren’t the man you used to be. Can you account for why?”

  Richard hesitated. He respected William tremendously. In the last weeks, he’d also come to like hirn. But there was no way he was going to trust his secret to a man who saw trial by combat as a reasonable means of dispute resolution. “I was a long time recovering from my injuries, my lord.” He chose his words carefully. “I could scarcely speak. And in that time, I had to listen. I did not like what I heard when people spoke to me. I realized I was feared, hated, even. My wife cringed every time I looked at her. I was not proud of the man I was. I decided to try and be better.”

  William nodded. “I remember your speech well—or lack of it—at Pembroke. These injuries of yours concern me, though. How badly have they affected you?”

  Richard wondered how to answer. He thought he’d fought well when the party had been attacked upon their return from Pembroke. But then, maybe he hadn’t. He’d come out of it alive. “I walked away from combat alive,” he said aloud. “I suppose my injuries haven’t affected me that badly.”

  William nodded. He put his hands on his hips and paced to the window. “That may be something to your advantage, actually. Every fighter has a style, and yours was well known. Giscard is not known to me at all, but if I know anything at all about bullies like him, he’ll be out practicing at this very moment. I’ll have some of my men give him a bout. I’ll see what they can tell me about him. Have you ever faced him?”

  Richard hesitated. He had no way of knowing the answer. “I don’t know, my lord. My injuries affected my memory of some things. I don’t recall.”

  William raised his eyebrows. “I see. So that is sure to account for some of these differences others have seen in you, too.”

  Richard nodded. “I do not like to admit weakness, my lord.”

  William gave him a long look. “Sometimes admitting weakness is the greatest strength.” He walked to the door and paused, hand on the latch. “Is there anything you would like?”

  “I’d like to speak to my lady, if I could.”

  William nodded. “I tried to arrange that before. I’ll insist on it now. Be of good heart, son.” With another nod, he was gone.

  Richard sank down onto the bed. The greatest strength. It was time to admit his weakness to Eleanor. Or at least, to tell her the truth.

  CHAPTER 25

  The late afternoon sun slanted across her chair. Eleanor looked up from her sewing. Hugh was lying on the hearth rug, staring at the ceiling, an abandoned chess board beside him. The past twenty-four hours had been uneventful. She felt as if time were moving like a sluggish river, hour by hour, minute by minute, all winding down inexorably to the morning of the day to come. She closed her eyes and tried not to imagine Richard dead. There was a knock on the door, and she looked up.

  “Probably that priest,” Hugh muttered. He got to his feet. “I’ll get it.”

  Eleanor smiled. Father Caedmun had been kind. He’d come yesterday afternoon at this time, and then again this morning. They’d prayed together, and he’d heard her confession. With absolution, her heart seemed lighter. Hugh opened the door. A stranger in the livery of William the Marshal stood there. “My lady de Lambert,” he began. “Come with me, if you will?”

  “Of—of course,” Eleanor said. She got to her feet, and put her sewing aside. “But where?”

  The servant bowed. “My lord the Marshal has arranged a visit with your husband. Will you come?”

  “Hugh, stay here,” she said. She eagerly followed the man. “Is he all right? Is there anything wrong?”

  “Not to my knowledge, lady. But the Marshal has been trying for weeks to arrange this—ever since your husband’s arrest.” The servant glanced at her, running his eyes over her bosom. Eleanor felt a hot flush of shame run over her. The stares and comments of the people at court were awful to deal with. She glared back but said nothing. The man gave her a lewd grin.

  Finally they arrived at a narrow corridor. Two guards stood before the door. “There,” the man said. Eleanor felt their eyes on her as she advanced. She felt as if she walked naked down the hall, and she knew her cheeks were pink. The guards looked down at her, but did not question her. She placed her hand on the door. To her surprise it swung open easily.

  Richard was lying on the bed, his face unshaved, his shirt wrinkled. A pitcher stood on the floor beside the bed. He leaped up as the door swung open and his eyes widened in disbelief as she stepped through it. “Eleanor!” he cried. She pushed the door closed and stood just inside the threshold. “Richard.” Her eyes filled with tears, and a lump rose in her throat. This was her fault.

  He was beside her in one long stride, his arms wrapping around her to hold her close. “Oh, God, Eleanor, I’ve missed you so. I don’t know—you don’t know how much. I’m so sorry—I should have told you—”

  “Richard, it’s my fault, I should have trusted you—I was stupid and silly and I can’t tell you how sorry I am—”

  They broke off, still clinging to each other. Finally he kissed her nose. “There’s nothing to forgive. You were right to doubt me.”

  She blinked. “I was?”

  He nodded. She searched his face. “Come and sit, please?” He led her to the narrow cot. She sat down and he backed away. She held out her hand. “No, Eleanor. What I have to tell you is very difficult for me. It’s going to be difficult for you too. I’m not sure you’re going to be able to believe me. I hope that you will. But—” He broke off. He turned away, and she watched him struggle for words. Finally he faced her again. “I’m not the man you married. You—and every one else—are absolutely right. I’m not the Richard you knew.”

  She gazed at him, uncertain as to how to react. “Please go on,” she said at last.

  “My name is Richard Lambert. I was born in 1943, in a land that hasn’t even been discovered yet. I was exploring some ruins of a castle called Barland one day, slipped, fell, and when I woke up, I was here. In this body. In this time and place. But I’m not the man you knew as your husband. You’ve been right.”

  She swallowed hard, trying to understand what he was telling her. “In 1943? You were born—you will be born six hundred years from now?”

  He nodded. “I don’t know how to explain what happened. I don’t know how it happened. I don’t know why I am here. All I know is that I am here, and I don’t think I can go back. I think my body died that day I fell off the old steps. Just as Richard’s body—your husband—died when he was wounded.”

  She sat back. “He was dead.”

  Richard nodded. “I think so. And somehow, in some way I can’t explain, and no one else I ever met could explain either, our souls somehow crossed. And here I am.” He looked at her as if he were afraid she might begin to scream. “I—I know I am not what you are accustomed to. But I thought, after I began to understand how Richard treated you, that I might be better.”

  She gazed up at him. What he said was at once completely unbelievable and yet…‌it held the unmistakable ring of truth. “You are. You are better. You aren’t just better, you’re quite wonderful. You treat me the way I always dreamed I’d be treated.” She laughed, a little giddy at the whole incredible prospect. “And now—” She shook her head, gazing at him with disbelief. “I’m pregnant.”

  It was his turn to stare at her. “Is it true?”

  She nodded.

  He closed his eyes. “I thought so. I thought that might be it on the journey here. But you seemed so distant—you obviously didn’t trust me anymore—”

  “That language you spoke—those words you know—?”

  “That’s English. The English that will be spoken in almost seven hundred years.” He grinned at her a little sadly. “I forget sometimes.”

  “Sweet God. You’re not joking. You really do mean this.”

  He caught her hands in his. “Eleanor, you don’t know how I’ve struggled to try and find a way to tell you. If you don’t believe
me, I understand. If you’re angry at me for lying I understand. I didn’t deliberately mean to lie or to deceive you. I just didn’t know any way to tell you without sounding mad—or possessed.”

  She got to her feet, and twined her fingers around his. “Oh, Richard. I’m not angry. I’m only surprised—shocked. I suppose I knew a long time ago that something had happened—something odd and strange and in its own way, quite wonderful. I just never expected anything like this. I never heard of anything like this—ever.”

  “Neither have I,” he said. “Do you—can you—forgive me?”

  “There’s nothing to forgive,” she said. “I—I only feel as though I understand things so much better now. I understand now why you couldn’t talk in the beginning, why you needed me so much. I suppose I can see why you wanted me to talk to you as much as you did.”

  He nodded.

  She looked down at their hands, tightly clasped together. “I—I suppose you don’t really need me anymore.”

  “No, Eleanor. You’re wrong. I do need you, not in that way, but in others. I’ve realized something in these last weeks. I need you. I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to go back to the world I knew. I can’t bear the thought of leaving you. I’d rather stay here with you in a place where you can be accused of being possessed by the devil than live in a place where that never happens, but without you.”

  She raised her head. “Do you mean that? Truly?”

  “I’ve never meant anything more.” He bent his head and their lips met. She opened her mouth and his tongue danced lightly along the edges of her lips. Suddenly she felt closer to him than she ever had before. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close, as his slid around her waist. When the kiss finally ended, they drew apart, smiling a little nervously at each other like two strangers. “If you—if that makes you feel uncomfortable, I won’t do it again,” he said.

  “No!” she cried. He looked so lost. So alone. She wanted to take him in her arms and comfort him the way she would have with Hugh. She laughed a little shakily. “Richard, I love you. I’ve been so afraid to say it, so afraid to even think it. But you aren’t like any other man I’ve ever known in my life. And I wouldn’t want you any other way.”