She nodded. Aye, the term “neat freak“ was beginning to make sense.
Sir Joe picked up a discarded chicken bone, letting it dangle precariously from his fingers. “What is this?”
“’Tis a bone,” Alexandra offered matter-of-factly. “It was delicious.”
Shelly hid a smile behind a drying cloth. “We’re cleaning up, so don’t get your feathers all in a ruffle.”
Alexandra’s amusement disappeared when Sir Joe directed his mulish expression at her, prompting her to say to Shelly, “It would seem Suzanne ruffled his feathers earlier after she discovered Sir Joe had been touching my breasts.”
Shelly threw Sir Joe a look of disapproval.
“Hey, wait a minute,” he told Shelly, “it’s your fault I woke up with her in my bed in the first place.”
Shelly frowned. “Alexandra, how did you end up in the Professor’s bedroom?”
“I sleepwalk at times, quite useless to ponder a cure. But,” she added smugly, “had Sir Joe’s hand not been latched onto my breast like a bloodthirsty leech, I could have snuck back to my room without disturbance.”
Joe looked about his usually pristine kitchen, deeply regretting returning so quickly from his run. A horrified expression remained on Shelly’s face, looking at him as if he had done something wrong when it was Alexandra who had snuck into his bed uninvited. More than ever he longed for the peaceful solitude he was accustomed to. “Why didn’t you take her to your place last night instead of mine?” he asked Shelly, unable to get over the fact that he’d had absolutely no control over the situation.
“My neighbor’s apartment is being painted, so she and her cat are staying with me. I didn’t have room for one more.”
“Swell. You get the lady and her cat, and I get stuck with the...” His gaze settled on Alexandra whose face was mere inches from the television screen. “What is she doing?”
“Watching television.” Shelly tossed the sponge into the sink and leaned back on the kitchen counter so she, too, could watch two naked women strip the man bare...one piece of clothing at a time.
“What is wrong with you two?” Joe asked.
Shelly raised a brow. “We aren’t the ones who ordered the porn channel, are we Alexandra?”
“Nay,” Alexandra said. “What is porn?”
“It’s what you’re watching,” Shelly explained. “Women and men all getting it on...you know, lots of sex...naked bodies...”
Joe’s frown deepened. Shelly was one of a half dozen students earning credits as his research assistant, hoping to receive her minor with honors in Ancient History. She’d always been outspoken, but sometimes, like now, her bluntness took him by surprise. “Shelly,” he said, “I think she gets the idea.”
Alexandra paled. “I am a virgin and—”
“Get out of here,” Shelly said with a wave of her hand.
“Should I go?”
“No.” Shelly smiled. “I didn’t mean ‘get out of here’ as in leave, I meant...oh, never mind.”
“I never ordered this channel,” Joe muttered, ignoring them both as he made his way across the kitchen to turn the television off.
“She’s never seen a television before,” Shelly said. “Turn it back on.”
Joe’s headache was back in full force. “She’s never seen a television, she’s a thirty-year-old virgin, and she never lies. Give me a break.”
“Five and twenty,” Alexandra corrected.
Joe cocked his head. “Five and twenty?”
“She’s twenty-five years old,” Shelly clarified, “not thirty.”
Joe raked agitated fingers through his hair. “I’ve got work to do.”
Shelly nodded in agreement. “He’s working on an important project.”
“A project?” Alexandra asked.
“Research actually,” Shelly answered. “He has a chance of being elected to the National Academy of Art and History and Medieval Studies. A huge honor. Kind of like being elected into the Baseball Hall of Fame.”
Alexandra seemed genuinely interested. Once again Joe wondered what Alexandra was up to. This was the busiest time in his life. He needed solitude. He didn’t have time to explain, but he found himself doing exactly that. “The last ten years of my life have been spent with one goal in mind—to be accepted into the Academy. Membership will give me recognition, respect, and enough money to keep my research going for years.”
“It would also make his father proud,” Shelly chimed in.
A part of him wanted to correct Shelly, tell her that making his father proud was neither here nor there, but what good would it do? She’d been working with him for months now, and had obviously recorded all of his personality traits, hoping at some point to help him reach his full potential as a human being.
“Sounds terribly important,” Alexandra said. “Mayhap I can help.”
Joe looked at Alexandra, even found himself smiling.
Her eyes crinkled and small indentations appeared when she smiled back.
“Where did you get those?” he asked when he spotted three exceptional looking stones laying amongst scattered cookie crumbs on the kitchen table. He took the seat next to Alexandra so he could examine them. The stones looked oddly familiar. Had he seen them at the university-at a museum? His blood surged with an excitement he hadn’t felt in a long while.
“Those,” Alexandra said thoughtfully, “are the reason I am here. And when the moon is at its fullest, those stones will take me home again.”
Joe glanced at Shelly.
Shelly merely shrugged.
“I had five stones to begin with,” Alexandra went on, “but one disappeared upon my arrival. I placed the remainder of the stones in the hem of my gown, and then in the pocket of my robe yester eve. But now I can find only three stones. I fret whether ’twill be enough for my return.”
Joe didn’t give much credence to her story, but the stones looked familiar. He wondered if they could possibly be the same ones he’d seen in one of his catalogues? After placing the stones on a clean area of the table, he left the room, returning moments later with two binders filled with pictures and descriptions of ancient art. Joe took the seat next to Alexandra and began to skim the pages.
At first he hardly noticed Alexandra move closer, but then her chin brushed against his arm and strands of long curly hair fell across his fingers. He’d never seen redder hair in all his life. Red wasn’t even the right word to describe the color. Fiery orange with copper highlights would be a more accurate description.
As he turned the pages, a sweet scent filled his senses, making it difficult to focus on what he was doing. “What is that smell?”
“’Tis jasmine,” Alexandra said, inhaling deeply. “A wondrous sweet-smelling flower, is it not?”
“Nice.”
“Verily I could not resist the temptation to pick them from your winter garden.”
Both he and Shelly grimaced. Cantankerous Mrs. Peacock next door treated her plants like children. She even had a special heated glass house for the plants she called “her babies.”
“Would you look at that!” Alexandra blurted, pointing to one of the pictures.
Mrs. Peacock was quickly forgotten.
“’Tis the same candlestick I saw in Sir Richard’s possession upon one of his visits to our manor. He wished to give it to my sister, but I refused in her name.”
Joe took a closer look at the candlestick. “You’ve seen this? Are you sure?” The metalwork was incredibly detailed and combined both Canterbury and Winchester stylistic elements.
“Aye. And that cross,” she said, pointing to another picture on the opposite page, “’Tis worn around the neck of the same man who owns the castle, the man you are to do battle with.”
Joe ignored her talk of battle and pointed a finger at the picture. “Are you absolutely certain this is the same cross?”
She nodded. “’Tis matching in design and craftsmanship.”
“When was the last time you actually
saw Richard wearing it?”
“Many months ago.”
Joe rubbed his temples, tried to think more clearly. His collection of theories and findings on the Myths and History in Four Ancient Civilizations was nearly finished. For years now, to the detriment of all else, he’d spent endless hours studying journals, hoping to find the elixir, the one detail or tidbit that could guarantee him membership in the Academy. If he could get his hands on either one of these lost treasures...
“Professor, are you okay?”
The concern in Shelly’s voice removed him from his thoughts. “I’m fine.” His gaze fell on Alexandra. “Recognize anything else?” He pushed the binder in front of her, watched her skim over the pictures, turning each page with a gentle touch. Seconds felt like hours. Midway through his binder, her face brightened. “I have never seen these sculptures of The Last Judgment.”
He frowned.
“But these ivory carvings and a few of those tapestries,” she said, pointing to the previous page, “could easily be traded for two rabbits and a lean pig on market day.”
Peering into her eyes, he tried to define what he saw there. Was Alexandra Dunn a con artist? He always prided himself in his ability to spot a fraud. Before becoming a professor at NYU, he acquired ancient art for various museums in and about New York, and before that, Washington DC. On more than one occasion he had turned away fraudulent dealers who tried to sell counterfeit artwork.
But Alexandra wasn’t selling anything. And she didn’t show any of the usual signs of being a swindler. Not once had she taken her gaze from his when he questioned her. Her voice was steady and confident.
Whether Alexandra had truly seen these lost treasures had yet to be determined, but judging by the sincerity in her voice and in her eyes, it was obvious she believed she had. “Can you take me to Richard and show me either of these items?” he asked calmly, feeling anything but. The idea of actually beholding one of these treasures, made his blood pump rapidly through his veins.
A devilish smile tugged at the corners of Alexandra’s expressive green eyes. She leaned toward him, her face inches from his, and said, “Upon your agreement to rid my family of Sir Richard and his men, I will not only show you these lost treasures, I will help you to gain possession of them.”
With that said, she crossed her arms over her chest, and beamed, nearly taking his breath away. What was it about Alexandra that made him feel so darn light-hearted? He’d felt it last night when he watched her sleep...and now again. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d actually ached for a woman. In fact, he was almost sure he never had before.
“When he gets that faraway look of his,” Shelly informed Alexandra, “it usually means he’s pondering the emergence of Assyria, or the history of the Mediterranean world.”
Alexandra focused her attention on him, a gleaming, hopeful look in her eyes.
What harm could it do to help her? Joe wondered. This Richard guy was probably out roughing it on the streets, too. Joe could offer him a few bucks to leave her alone. The odds of this character actually having the cross or the candlestick were a million to one, but he’d never be able to sleep unless he checked it out. “You’ve got yourself a deal,” he finally said, offering her his hand. “You show me these antiquities, and I’ll take care of Richard.”
Instead of shaking his hand, Alexandra threw her arms about his neck and kissed him on the cheek. He stiffened, surprised by the outburst of affection.
“Let me get this straight,” Shelly said to Alexandra, unaware of his sudden discomfort. “You’re going to take the professor through time so he can fight off a bunch of fifteenth-century warriors?” Shelly held up one of the stones. “And this rock is your transportation?”
Alexandra’s face glowed. “Aye. It is Sir Joe’s destiny. He is The Chosen One.”
Joe felt ridiculously honored. For a woman who was four kings short of a full deck, she spoke with poise and assurance.
Shelly took the stone to the built-in desk situated in the far corner of the kitchen and hit a few buttons on the computer. Within minutes she’d found the information she was searching for. “According to this website,” Shelly said, “the next full moon is this Friday.”
“How can that be?” Alexandra asked. “I arrived only yester morn. I do know that the stones must be used within...” She struggled for the words Grandfather had used. “They must be used within three consecutive months. According to my grandfather, there are nine and twenty days between each full moon.”
Shelly tapped a finger to her chin. “I bet if we calculated all of the leap years over the last few hundred years and then subtracted the number of days...”
Joe lifted a brow at Shelly, surprised by her ability to accept any or all of the woman’s time-travel nonsense.
Shelly raised a brow of her own. “You’re the one who just promised to rid her family of some ancient medieval knight.”
He turned to Alexandra. “Is Richard a knight?”
“A pampered lord,” she corrected.
“Ahhh,” he said as if that made more sense and would be no problem.
“Where do you keep your weapons?” Alexandra asked anxiously. “We have less time than I originally thought. Weapons will need to be inspected and blades sharpened.”
“Woaahhh, wait a minute,” he said, wondering suddenly if he’d been a bit hasty in making a deal with her. “What does the full moon have to do with my meeting Richard?”
“Everything,” Alexandra said. “I cannot take you to meet Sir Richard until the moon is at its fullest.”
“What is he, a werewolf?”
“Nay. He’s merely a man, like you.”
Shelly came back to the table and took a seat, setting the stone before him. “I’ve never seen anything like this. At first glance it looks like a chunk of granite, but if you hold it to the light...” She drew the stone up close to the lamp. “You can see flashes of color inside.”
Joe nodded, his thoughts a million miles away. This was Wednesday, two more days until Friday. He turned toward Alexandra. “Where exactly are you planning on staying until the next full moon?” He was sure he already knew the answer.
Alexandra peered at him with wide, hopeful eyes and said, “With you. I promise to make myself useful,” she quickly added. “I can weave and—”
“I’m sure you’re talents are never-ending,” Joe cut in, “but what I need is quiet.”
“I can hawk, hunt, and play chess as well as any man,” she went on desperately. “I can help with the gardening.”
“No, no,” Shelly blurted, “I wouldn’t go near the garden again if I were you.”
Joe stood. “Hawking abilities, or not, you can’t stay here. It’s out of the question.”
“But she’s only asking for three more days,” Shelly argued. “Classes don’t start for another week. I’ll keep her busy during the day while you finish your research.”
“What about the student papers I gave you to grade and the handouts I need for next week’s lecture?”
“I’m nearly finished with them,” Shelly replied. “I’ll take Alexandra to the library with me tomorrow. Since you have an extra bedroom, she’ll have to sleep here though. Then on Friday she can take you to meet Richard.”
“’Twould be appreciated,” Alexandra murmured.
It was suddenly so quiet you could hear the drip of the faucet. The women stared at him, waiting for his answer, making him uneasy.
“Okay, fine,” he said. “Alexandra can sleep here for two more nights, but that’s it.” He wagged a finger at Alexandra. “And don’t think for one minute that I’m buying into this moon story. I don’t like being conned. If Richard exists, then I’ll talk to him. But after that I’m taking you straight to the women’s shelter across town.”
“Come on,” Shelly said to Alexandra, urging her from the room while he rambled on with his lecture.
Alexandra didn’t need to be told twice. She quickly gathered her stones and followed She
lly out of the kitchen.
Standing in the empty room with his finger still pointed outward, Joe realized he’d been duped. Alexandra Dunn had gotten exactly what she’d wanted. From the first moment he ran into her, she’d played on his guilt like Jimmy Hendrix played the strings of his guitar.
It was true. A sucker was born every minute.
Chapter Seven
Every man has his own destiny: the only imperative is to follow it, to accept it, no matter where it leads him.
—Henry Miller
Friday came fast and Joe did the same thing he did every morning. He showered and shaved, pulled on a pair of sweatpants, then put on a clean white t-shirt before heading downstairs.
Shelly and Alexandra had left hours ago. When they returned, he would go with Alexandra to Central Park. He felt like Don Quixote on some unimaginable quest. Only in this version “Dulcinea“ was the crazed and impoverished one who wanted to set out and revive the glory of knighthood that had been so romanticized.
Would Sir Richard turn out to be a giant windmill, he wondered...a figment of Alexandra’s imagination?
Joe hit the switch, lighting the kitchen before he set about making a pot of coffee. Soon his life would be back in order, back to normal, back to the way it was before he ran into Alexandra Dunn.
Odd, he mused, that he failed to feel the usual excited rush that generally accompanied any thought of getting back to work. He dumped three scoops of coffee into the filter, hit the ON button, and tried to transform his muddied thinking to a more studious mind frame.
He spotted the beaded cardigan Shelly had purchased for Alexandra; the cardigan hung wrinkled over one of the wingback chairs. Until Alexandra was gone for good, he wasn’t going to get any work done at all. Slippers and magazines had been tossed under the kitchen table. Did the woman ever put anything away?
While the coffee brewed, Joe gathered Alexandra’s things and carried them to the guestroom. He frowned at the sight of sheets and pillows strewn about the room. From the looks of things, she had meticulously dissected a fake fern. Amongst the plastic leaves littered about the floor were pictures torn from magazines. It took him a moment to find a place to set her things.
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