“Whoa, P-Precious, whoa.” Joe pulled back on the reins. By the time the animal stopped, he was dangling from the horse’s neck.
Alexandra laughed.
“Ah,” he said after he’d righted himself, and she caught up to him. “I should have known all I had to do was make a fool out of myself to get you to smile.”
“And what I wonder would make you smile in return, Sir Joe?”
The instant their eyes met, he felt another jolt of awareness pass between them. In a few short seconds, he conjured up all sorts of things that would make him smile. Then he shook his head at his wayward thoughts. Here he was, off to do battle with an evil lord, and suddenly he was thinking about taking a nice hot shower...with Alexandra. Ever since discovering she hadn’t escaped from a mental ward, he’d found himself looking at her in a whole new light.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“No,” he said, an uncomfortable tightness settling within. “I was thinking about what would make me smile, and the answer is food.” That wasn’t exactly the truth, but neither was it a lie. “A steaming plate of roast beef and mashed potatoes would definitely put a smile on my face. I’m starved.”
He thought he saw a flicker of disappointment cross her face before she assured him they would be stopping shortly to break their fast.
“Are you still cross with me for bringing you here?” she asked after a moment of silence passed.
“Angry? Me? Did I seem angry?”
She caught his sarcasm then, and smiled.
He smiled back at her. “No, I’m not angry.” He glanced about, took a good look at the myriad trees surrounding them. Everything appeared as it should. The air smelt fresh and piney, the crickets and birds were doing their thing. “It’s hard to believe I’m here, in another time, in another century.” He patted the leather bag at his side. “But it’s good to know I have the last stone; my ticket home.”
“Grandfather gave you the stone?”
“He didn’t have much choice.” Joe shook his head and said, “Did you know that all of your friends back at the village think I, Joe McFarland, am the Black Knight?”
“Anything is possible. You are here, are you not?”
“True, I am here, but I am not the Black Knight.” He laughed at the thought. “My father would get a big kick out of hearing it though, his own son, the Black Knight. The notion is amusing.”
“Tell me about your world, Alexandra. What is it like to live in your time?”
“What would you like to know?”
He shrugged. “Tell me about your family.”
Alexandra appeared to sort her thoughts before she told him about her mother who had died giving birth to Garrett.
Joe listened intently as she talked about her childhood, being raised on a farm, her daily chores...feeding the chickens, sowing the fields, and so on. With every word, he found himself more intrigued. Not only had she lost her mother, years later she’d lost her step-mother, too; the woman had been murdered by an armed man on her way to visit family. Rebecca, Alexandra’s half sister, was six-years old and had been traveling with her mother at the time. Rebecca witnessed the murder and stayed hidden until she was found by a hunter who recognized her as one of the four Dunn sisters living in Brookshire. Rebecca had not uttered a word since that day nearly two years ago.
Soon after, Alexandra’s father, who was minor nobility as he was a distant relation to the earl of Ormonde, set off to do the king’s bidding and never returned, leaving Alexandra with much responsibility. And yet she carried on with dignity and determination. Her crops and her hard work had helped to keep an entire village from starving.
Joe let his gaze roam over her. Apparently, she’d given away her new clothes, but even in her tattered dress-like tunic, she looked beautiful. Alexandra was a natural beauty. Some considered “natural“ to mean ordinary. But there was nothing ordinary about the sheer redness of her hair. And there was certainly nothing usual about her flawless skin or expressive green eyes; eyes the color of renewed hope and prosperity. Smiling came easy to Alexandra. Her face was almost always animated, her eyes sparkling. And whenever he spoke, she listened with her eyes as much as her ears.
Her laughter was contagious, lending him an unfamiliar lightheartedness. Joe felt a sudden bond between them, a bond of friendship. He’d never been one to collect friends. He supposed Shelly was a friend. He cleared his throat and said, “I’ve been meaning to apologize for not believing your story when you first enlightened me.”
“’Tis understandable,” she answered. “I did not believe ’twas possible myself until it happened.”
“And even then, it’s hard to believe,” Joe said. “There once lived a brilliant man named Albert Einstein who found the notion of time-travel upsetting.” Joe laughed at the irony. “Einstein showed gravity as a bending of space and time.”
Alexandra nodded, listening.
“I recall reading about time travel becoming a practical possibility,” he went on. “Light was a vital ingredient: sun or moon. I’ll have to do more research when I return.”
Divots and potholes increased in number as they moved along the well-used paths. The clip-clop of hooves filled the silence between them.
As the day wore on, Joe thought of last night when he’d marched off, intending to leave Alexandra, knowing full well she’d go after her sister with or without him. But by the time he’d trampled through an acre of high weeds, he’d calmed down enough to realize he could never abandon her in her time of need. As he’d looked at the moon last night, with the rock snug in his pocket, he knew he couldn’t live out his life knowing he might be responsible for Alexandra’s death. That’s when he headed back over the hill, intent on telling her that he would stay until she and her family were safe. But the snap of a branch had stopped him in his tracks. And when he’d looked upward...everything had gone black.
Joe had had every intention of telling Alexandra that he’d changed his mind about leaving. But that was before her brother struck him down, and before her grandfather told him it was his destiny that he be Alexandra’s husband. The Chosen One, or not, he wasn’t the marrying type. And even if he was, he could never stay in this world and live the life of a medieval man. He wasn’t cut out to be a farmer, let alone a warrior. He was a modern man who enjoyed the luxuries of modern day living: flushing toilets, hot showers, and comfortable clothes. It could never work.
“Tell me about you,” Alexandra said, breaking into his meandering thoughts. “I have told you much about me, and yet you have told me little about yourself.”
He pointed to his chest. “You want to know about me?”
“Aye.”
“I’m afraid I am not a very interesting subject.”
“You jest. You are a remarkable man, and a very brave one at that.”
He chuckled. “Had you asked Shelly to name twenty words to describe me, brave would not have been one of them.”
“Neat-freak would have been on her list,” Alexandra said with a laugh.
Joe frowned.
Alexandra’s smile faded. “I am certain she meant no harm.”
“I’m sure she didn’t,” he answered dryly. “What else did Shelly say about me? Never mind, I don’t think I want to know.”
But it was too late, Alexandra was already repeating the long list of character flaws Shelly had mentioned: stubborn, pigheaded, impatient... The list went on and on.
Joe let it go, figuring it might be best if Alexandra thought the worst of him. They could never be together, and he needed to make that clear.
Chapter Thirteen
To the dull mind all nature is leaden. To the illuminated mind the whole world burns and sparkles with light.
—Ralph Waldo Emerson
The sun was nearly setting by the time they set up camp. They sat on the rocky bank of a winding river. The panorama took on a life of its own. Joe had never hiked through a forest, never once went fishing. But here he was in a vast land of g
reenery: trees, lush plants, mosses, and shrubs.
The day had been long and the beauty before him no longer held his attention. The insides of his thighs felt tender and raw. He could hardly move after riding all day, and the tightness of his breeches wasn’t helping matters.
Joe splashed cold water onto his face. His stomach grumbled. Hoping for a ration of dried beef he’d seen in Alexandra’s pack, he frowned when she handed him a live caterpillar and a stick. He eyed the wriggling insect. “What is this for?”
“Bait,” she said.
He watched the creature crawl over his open palm. Then he glanced at the sharp end of the stick where the poor critter was to go, reminding himself that caterpillars could be troublesome, ruining entire fields of vegetation. It deserved to die.
Alexandra chuckled.
“I don’t care about this cute little bristly-haired caterpillar, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I was thinking nothing of the sort,” she said much too cheerfully. She leaned casually against a rock and waited, her fishing stick already baited and in the water.
Somehow Joe managed. He plopped the long willowy stick into the water. He even whistled in an attempt to show Alexandra he could handle his first day in the woods. Truthfully, he’d never been so uncomfortable in his life. His lips were cracked and dry. Every muscle was sore. He rubbed his palm over the day-old bristle that was already making his jaw itch. “Now what?”
“We wait for an eel to take the bait,” she told him.
“Very funny. So, what are we really fishing for, salmon?”
“Have you never tasted eel?”
“No and I don’t ever plan to.” He gestured toward her saddle pack. “Didn’t I see some dried beef in your bag?”
“Aye, but we must save it for a day when the river is not so close at hand. Mayhap you should have broken your fast with the rest of us this morn.”
“I wasn’t hungry. Now I am.” An adventure, he told himself. Think of this trip as an adventure. His colleagues would undoubtedly give up a year’s salary to have such an opportunity. And he would gladly give up a year’s salary to give it to them. He took a steadying breath. If he had known she was telling the truth about the magical stones, he would have brought his laptop and plenty of batteries. He closed his eyes, tried to relax. It was no use.
How, he wondered, did Alexandra manage to always look so calm? And how the hell did she move about in that long tattered dress and skirt of hers. He liked it better when she left her hair hanging loose, but at the moment, most of her curly red hair was tucked under a loose hood. “Why aren’t you married?” he found himself asking.
She arched a brow.
“If we’re going to spend the next few weeks together, we might as well get everything out in the open, don’t you think?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Exactly what did Grandfather tell you?”
Joe swatted at a mosquito. “Mostly your grandfather tried to convince me of my being The Chosen One.”
“Oh,” she said, appearing relieved.
“And then he told me how you’ve been waiting for me, your husband, to come and claim you.”
“He did not,” she said, her eyes widening in horror.
“He did. In fact, your brother said the very same thing.”
She looked back to the river.
“When were you planning on telling me?”
“Never,” she answered flatly. “For none of it is true. I have no interest in marriage.” She stirred the water with her stick.
“That’s good to hear,” he said. “Since you told Shelly you had never been with a man, I thought maybe their stories were true and that you’ve been...” He tried to think of the right words, “...saving yourself, so to speak.”
Her laughter was hearty and rich, making him feel a tad foolish for bringing it up at all.
“I was jesting when I told you I was an innocent maiden. I have been with so many men I can hardly keep track of the numbers. Verily I am surprised we have not yet run into one of my many suitors.”
It was impossible to determine whether she was telling the truth, or not. “So you’re not getting any ideas about us—” he wagged a finger between them “—hooking up and getting married?”
She snorted. “A silly notion all this talk of marriage. Grandfather likes to believe what he wants to believe. His tales are exactly that...tales, nothing more. My brother and sisters tend to take the old man’s word as gospel.” She sighed. “I have no desire to marry you or any other man.”
“Well...good,” he said, unsure as to why her words would bother him, which they did. Maybe it was because she spoke with such finality. Or maybe the thought of Alexandra being with dozens of men didn’t sit well with him. Ridiculous. He didn’t care how many men she’d dated. He certainly didn’t care whether or not she found him desirable.
“I would never marry a man I hardly knew,” she went on. “Especially a man coddled and made soft by man’s modern creations.”
“Exactly,” he agreed, hoping she was finished.
“I fair say I would not marry you for all the treasure in King Henry’s—”
“Alexandra,” he said, cutting her short. “You’ve made your point.”
“’Tis well and good because—” she stifled a chuckle with her hand, unable to finish her sentence.
He rolled his eyes. “What’s so funny now?”
“For a moment,” she said, still chuckling, “I tried to picture you as a husband. Not my husband, but any woman’s husband. Imagine that.”
He waited for her to elaborate, but she was a woman and she knew she had him right where she wanted him. “Oh no you don’t,” he said after she went back to fishing. “I want to know why my being anyone’s husband would strike you as so damned amusing.”
“You do not know?”
“No, I do not know,” he said, mimicking her wide-eyed wonder.
“For one thing,” she began, “a woman would grow exhausted trying to keep things neat and orderly for a man like you. And for what purpose? Obviously you prefer your work to the detriment of all else; exactly why Suzanne discarded you in the first place.”
His jaw tensed. “For your information, Suzanne only discarded me, as you so kindly put it, because she found you in my bed.”
Alexandra swished his comment away like an annoying bug. “Shelly mentioned your difficulty with committing to a woman more than once. Naught to be ashamed of, mind you. Most men know naught of a woman’s needs and thus they become easily befuddled.”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
“And what about children?” Alexandra went on. “Most women want children at some point in their lives. You said yourself you were not fond of them.” She shook her head as if he were a lost cause. “Methinks surely a man like you would be hard-pressed to find a wife.”
Joe swallowed his pride and decided not to take the bait. He should be relieved hearing how adamant she was about never marrying a man like him. And she was right about children. Every woman he ever dated had talked about having children someday. Kids were noisy and required constant discipline, entirely too much responsibility for a guy who thrived on peace and quiet.
“And what about love?” Alexandra asked.
“What about it?”
“You, Sir Joe, are in love with your studies and your research. You are much too busy to love a woman the way a woman wants and needs to be loved.”
He had nothing to say to that, which prompted Alexandra to turn back to her fishing.
Inwardly, he smiled. Alexandra was candid and brutally honest with her feelings. She was a woman born in hard times, a woman who had lost her parents too soon, only to be left to care for her siblings, not to mention her grandfather, and a dilapidated farm. And yet she was self-reliant and strong. She was right when she’d said she didn’t need a man to survive.
Joe sighed as he watched the sunset. The medieval women he’d studied over the years had been fi
ctional beings. A great gulf had separated him from the medieval world and its occupants. Nothing would ever be the same again.
No matter how many years separated his and Alexandra’s births, the two of them now shared something he and his colleagues never would...a miraculous connection, binding them like no other two people on this earth.
A tug on his stick prompted him to gaze into the crystal clear water. He shuddered when he found himself staring into the hideously ugly eyes of his dinner. Yanking his makeshift fishing pole upward, he jumped to his feet and watched the snake-like creature wriggle helplessly from the end of his branch.
“You did it!” Alexandra said. “You caught an eel.”
The eel’s slick, scaly skin and thin body with flattened tail made him question her excitement. No way in hell was he going to eat the thing for dinner.
Alexandra flayed the eels, three altogether, and put them over the spit to cook. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Sir Joe leaning against the trunk of an oak tree, watching her. She wiped her hands on a cloth tucked in her waistband, then pulled the matches from her satchel. One swipe of the match across the box and she had fire. An ingenious invention, she thought, as she lit the straw beneath a pile of sticks.
“Makes life a little easier, doesn’t it?” he asked.
“Aye, although methinks life in your world is a little too easy. From what I witnessed, it makes people soft.”
“Yeah,” he said as he knelt by the fire and added more kindling. “I guess it does. A person would have to be as hard as steel to live in times like these, wouldn’t they Alexandra?”
The way he said her name made her shiver. She noticed the flexing of muscle as he stirred the fire. During their ride today, she had been startled by Sir Joe’s inquiries when he asked about her life. No man had ever asked her to speak of such things. The men in her village rarely took an interest in what she was saying, let alone thinking. But Sir Joe was from another time. Mayhap he asked only out of politeness. It mattered not. She enjoyed their conversations. Sir Joe was not fond of violence, but he appeared to be anything but soft. His hands looked sturdy and strong as he stirred more than just the fire beneath the spit.
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