He reached upward and took hold of her hand, refusing to let go when she tried to pull away. “I don’t want to be your friend,” he said sullenly, a ridiculous pout on his face. “In fact, I was just telling Vicki that I didn’t want to be your friend at all. Isn’t that right?”
The maid smiled and nodded, enjoying the spectacle he was making of himself as she scooped soap from a tin and used it to scrub his hair.
“Ahhh, that feels good. To the left. Ahhh yes, I’m in heaven.”
Alexandra rolled her eyes heavenward. “Release me. I have no desire to stand here and watch you bathe whilst you make a fool of yourself.”
“Do you know why I don’t want to be your friend, Alexandra?”
“Nay. But if telling me will allow me to be set free, then please do so quickly so that I may get some rest.”
The corners of his mouth lifted into a lazy, seductive smile. “I don’t want to be your friend because as Vicki so grazzzeously pointed out...” He waved his arm in a grand gesture. “It is difficult to be friends and lovers. And, well, if I have to choose, I’ve decided I’d much rather be your lover.”
Alexandra shook her head at such foolishness.
His elbow came to rest precariously on the side of the tub, the wine drizzling from his cup. “What?”
“I suppose you have told all you have met about us?”
A brow shot up. “Wazzz it a secret?”
“We will talk when you are sober.”
“You agree then?” he asked, his elbow slipping into the tub with a splash.
She wiped droplets of water from her tunic. “Agree to what?”
“We will be lovers again?”
“Nay,” she said with less regret than she might have felt under different circumstances.
He set the empty cup on the floor and gestured with his chin for her to lean closer. “I have a secret.”
“And then you will release me?”
He nodded.
She leaned forward, holding the tub with her free hand so as not to fall in. His lips touched her ear, sending chills coursing up her arms, her body betraying her at every turn.
“You are very beautiful.” He touched a strand of her hair, played with it for a moment. “Even when you’re angry, you’re beautiful. I think the maid,” he said, gesturing behind him, “iz jealous.”
She snorted, tried to pull away.
“Very, very jealous of your never-ending beauty. Yes, it is you I dream of each and every night. I’ve missed you,” he added hastily.
Alexandra pulled back enough so as to look into his eyes.
“Shhhhhh,” he said, putting a finger to his mouth. “Do not tell anyone. It will be our secret.” His hands fell back into the warm water as if a terrible burden had been rested from his mind.
She was free to go.
Alexandra shook her head, but didn’t find herself smiling fully until the innkeeper entered with a pair of pliers in one hand and clean linen in the other, asking all to leave so she could collect her gold now that the opium had set in.
Chapter Eighteen
A hero is a man who is afraid to run away.
—English Proverb
It was well past morning by the time Alexandra swept through the narrow hall of the inn, heading for Sir Joe’s bedchamber. The children were in the dining hall breaking their fast with the other patrons.
Last night she’d shared a room with the girls. She told Garrett he could sleep in Sir Joe’s chamber, but her brother refused, sleeping near the hearth instead. If only she could get Garrett to open up to her, but every time she tried to talk to him, he withdrew. She had been glad to find him playing chess with a young man who seemed a bit of a know-it-all, but charming just the same. He’d certainly caught Susan’s eye, which is why Alexandra had hurried the girls to bed, telling them they would need their sleep for the long journey ahead.
Alexandra entered Sir Joe’s room, careful not to drop the tray as she pushed the door open with her hip. She set the tray on a high table, then went to the window and opened the curtains, letting the morning sun brighten the room. Her gaze fell to where Sir Joe lay on the high bed. She was glad to see that he was alone.
The sheet swept over his legs, leaving much of him exposed. He was everything she ever envisioned a man should be: strong and muscular, but not as brawny as a woodcutter. Well bronzed after their long trek. He did not look to be the scholarly type. Upon moving closer, she saw the peaceful expression on his face. When she reached out to adjust the sheet, his hand clamped over her wrist.
She gasped.
“Spying on me again?”
“Nay, I was only making sure you were well.”
He let go of her hand and swept a hand across his swollen jaw.
“Does it hurt?” she asked.
“Not much. For the first time in days I don’t feel a painful throbbing in my mouth. My headache is finally gone, too. Something smells very good,” he said, turning toward the tray on the nightstand. “An omelet?”
“Nay.” Alexandra retrieved the tray from the table and brought it to him.
“Breakfast in bed? You’re too good to me,” he said as he fluffed the misshapen pillows behind him so he could sit upright and take the tray from her. A single flower was displayed within a pewter vase. “What do we have here?” He took a whiff, his nose wrinkling.
She smiled. “’Tis a gillyflower.”
“No kidding? A flower that smells...” He took another whiff. “Nothing like a flower at all.”
“It possesses the scent of cloves.”
“Very nice,” he said, but she could see he had no liking for the flower and was simply being polite. “Lady Gowan, the innkeeper, was nice enough to pick it for you.” With that said, she headed for the door.
“Don’t leave,” he blurted. “Stay and talk for awhile.”
She wrung her hands.
“Come on,” he urged, “keep me company while I eat.”
She brought a stool to the side of the bed, then proceeded to watch him devour his eggs, then take a bite of mutton.
“This is good...delicious.”
“Lady Gowan is a good cook and a very nice woman. The children and I have enjoyed our stay thus far.”
He smiled, took another bite.
“What would you like to talk about?” she asked.
He chewed while he thought about it. Then he pointed his spoon her way. “Tell me more about yourself. Anything at all. Whatever pops into your head.”
“I’ve told you all there is to know.”
He shook his head, then swallowed. “You’ve told me about your life growing up. But what about your hopes and dreams?”
Her brow wrinkled in puzzlement.
“What is it you want out of life“ he asked before taking another mouthful.
She laughed. “I dare say...I have no idea.”
“Come on, you’re not trying hard enough. What makes you tick?”
“I have never taken the time to ponder such things. Verily, I know not.”
Joe finished off the mutton. “Any woman who can look at a cloud and see a lion must have dreams.”
“Do most people from your time ponder such things?”
He took a sip of ale. “Yes they do. And I am going to help you out by telling you who I think you are. Maybe that will help to get you started.”
“All right,” she said, curious.
He pushed the tray aside. “You’re beautiful. That’s a no-brainer.”
“A no-brainer?”
“Meaning everyone can see that you’re a pretty woman. You don’t even need a mirror to see that for yourself. Just look into the eyes of the people you pass by and you’ll see them take a second look, stopping to gaze at your smooth skin or your long red hair.”
“’Tis only hair.”
“Exactly. I know what I see, but I have no idea what rests inside of you...in your heart, in your dreams. I know you throw chicken bones about and that you’re too soft with your sib
lings. You end a chuckle with a snort and you snore most nights. You talk and walk in your sleep...”
A frown creased her brow. “I dare say I do not snore.”
“Afraid so. If it’s any consolation, it’s a very cute snore. I also know you care deeply for your siblings and that nothing in this world could ever tear you away from them.”
Something in his tone caught her attention. This wasn’t about her at all, but about him instead. It wasn’t often that he chattered on so, but ever since they had become “friends“ he had seemed melancholy. He was not the least bit content with being her friend. He wanted more. The thought cheered her immeasurably. Mayhap he was hinting that he would ask her to return with him if she did not have so many responsibilities here.
“I know more about Garrett than I do about you,” he went on. “I know he blames himself for your father’s leaving. But I think Garrett holds a grudge against me, maybe even all men, because in them he sees a bit of his father; a father who left him to be eaten alive with guilt. And Susan,” he rambled on, “an intelligent girl. But do you see how hard she works to get your attention? She believes that if she works hard enough, you won’t leave her as your parents did. And then there’s Rebecca. Anyone can see she’s just plain scared.”
“Are we talking about me,” Alexandra asked, “or my failings as a caretaker? Must you forever remind me that my siblings are all, each in their own way, begging for attention and love? Do you think I dare not yearn for those things, too? You think I do not see the longing in their eyes each night after I’ve worked the fields until my fingers bleed?” Her shoulders sagged, and she knew suddenly why she so seldom stopped to ponder such things. Doing so reminded her of how tired she was and how little good it did to waste time wishing for things that could never be. She wanted more for her siblings. She had dreams of sending them off to London to be educated. She wanted not to see them waste their lives in the fields as she was forced to do after father left with their finances in shambles. “I know they need me,” she said softly, “but I can only do so much. Like Garrett, I, too, yearn to have our father return one day. I imagine him coming over the hill while I harvest the wheat; he sweeps us into his arms and tells us how he could not bear to be away from his family. Every time I used to see a visitor approaching, I prayed that it was him. And when I tuck the children in their beds at night, I lay awake, wondering what went wrong. I do not know why Father left us when he did. I have told Garrett many times ’twas not his doing, but he refuses to believe otherwise.”
“I’m sorry,” Sir Joe said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“When I think of my father,” she said, “do you know what scares me most?”
He shook his head.
“Knowing I still love him, despite his leaving. I prefer to remember my father for the man he once was. I will not soon forget the day he hired a passing troubadour to teach me to read. My mother was a wonderful woman, but it was my father who taught me to be independent, to rely on no one but myself.”
Her shoulders fell slightly before she added, “Garrett has no memory of our mother. And father was too dispirited to leave Garrett with any lasting impression, other than leaving to serve the king when Garrett needed him most. Garrett had only Grandfather and me to teach him about the hardships of life.”
“He’s lucky to have you.”
She smiled. “It was Grandfather who kept our spirits light with stories and song whilst I did my best to keep the crops strong and healthy.”
Sir Joe took her hand and rubbed his thumb against her palm. He was the only man she had ever talked to about such private matters. Her spirits lifted as Sir Joe helped her to remember that things were not so bad. Despite the difficult times, she and Grandfather had managed well.
Her gaze searched his face and settled on his eyes. “I believe I have fallen in love with you, Sir Joe.”
He frowned at hearing her declaration, but she cared not. She’d said what she felt in her heart, and she had no regrets.
“You don’t love me,” he told her.
“I do. And you, Sir Joe, shan’t stop me from feeling what I feel.”
Sir Joe laid his head back on the pillows and stared up at the ceiling, one knee bent as he plucked the gillyflower from the tray and tapped it against his forehead. “Maybe what you’re feeling is more of a crush.”
“How does a crush feel?” she asked.
“I am assuming you attend church.”
“Aye,” she said, more perplexed than ever.
“At church then, did you ever notice someone across the room, someone of the opposite sex who made your palms sweat and your heart beat a little faster?”
“Nay, never.”
“You’ve never met a young man who made you feel just the slightest bit nervous when you glanced his way?”
She refused to let him wave away her declaration of love as if it were naught but infatuation.
Sir Joe exhaled and then tried again. “He notices you; you notice him. You smile; he smiles. Sparks ignite, and so on, and so on?”
“I have never felt such things.” Not until I met you, she thought to herself. “I found boys to be brutish in manner and lacking in here,” she said, pointing to her skull.
Sir Joe laughed. “Never mind, then. I forget the point I was making anyhow.”
“I think what you were trying to do,” she said, leaning over him, her chest brushing against him as she gathered the tray and placed it on the nightstand, “was put words in my mouth and tell me what I am feeling.” She returned to her seat on the stool and waited for a response.
“Hmmm,” he said, smiling, “maybe you’re right.”
“Did you love Suzanne?” she asked.
Joe had never in his life talk to a woman about ex-girlfriends and such. Alexandra had caught him off guard. “No,” he said and tossed the flower to the side table.
“But she loved you?”
“No, I don’t think she loved me either.”
Alexandra lifted her chin. “Have you ever had these crushes you speak of?”
“Many times.”
“’Twould be a crush if you were to stand before this person and were to suddenly lose control of your tongue and trip over your feet like a newborn calf?”
“Sounds like you speak from experience after all.”
“Nay,” she said, “but I have seen how silly boys act around girls with comely faces.”
“I’m sure you’ve left a fair share of young men crippled and speechless.”
“Nay,” she said, nudging him with her elbow, “you jest. Boys were never interested in me.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re fishing for compliments?”
“What does that mean, fishing for compliments?”
“It means that you might be hinting for me to say something nice about you.” He leaned her way and inhaled. “Something about how sweet you smell or how nice you look.”
“Oh,” she said, her lips curving upward, “go on.”
He laughed. “You might hope I would mention your endless beauty or maybe talk on and on about your luscious red hair and how it shines about your face like a halo of crimson silk.” He lifted a strand of her hair and let it slide between his thumb and forefinger. “Or maybe you’d prefer I go on about your eyes and how they put the purest of green grasses to shame, sparkling like the rarest of emeralds.”
Joe watched a half-smile play on her lips; full and achingly kissable lips. Then it hit him like another toilet plunger to his head. She was doing it again, pulling him in, making him desire her in such a way that would make it impossible for him to ever leave her. He could not allow himself to fall in love with a woman from another time. Falling in love?
The thought had come out of right field. A prickling sensation ran up his spine. Hell, he didn’t believe in love. Every time a woman talked of love he felt the tightening of a straight jacket. Love meant being restrained. Love always had conditions attached to it...I’ll love you more if you
stop working so much. I’ll love you forever as long as you behave accordingly. Love was not the antidote to an empty, meaningless life as some people seemed to think.
Calming himself, he thought, even if his feelings wavered in the direction of a strong attraction for Alexandra, he could not stay in this world. What about cars, big cities, dishwashers and hot showers? He already missed those things, dammit.
His jaw twitched.
He didn’t love Alexandra, so what was he worried about? No responsibilities tied him here—no sirree. Other than dealing with Sir Richard when the time came, he was as free as a bird, obligated to no one but himself. He was exempt, so to speak, relieved of all...
Her long thick lashes fluttered and he found himself engulfed in big, beautiful liquid green eyes. It was too late. She had already marked him as an easy target.
“Are you finished?” she asked in what he considered to be a throaty, seductive whisper.
He sat up. “Darn right I’m finished. And just for the record, you don’t love me, Alexandra. And that’s final.” He’d never liked people who pointed fingers, but he’d been pointing a lot of them lately. He pointed one now, accusingly, selfishly, blaming her for conjuring up all these touchy, feely things he was experiencing. Asking her to go on about her inner self...where the hell did that come from? Sure, most people from his time spent millions of dollars on books to learn about their inner selves. But not him. Not Joe McFarland. He’d never touched one of those self-help books in his life. The idea was absurd.
Giving no thought to his lack of clothing, he slid his legs over the edge of the bed and came to his feet. “I don’t love you, Alexandra, so don’t even think it.”
She gasped. “I never implied such a thing.”
“I don’t have any feelings for you whatsoever,” he ground out as he crossed the room to retrieve his clothes.
Alexandra came to her feet and let out a ponderous sigh.
“Don’t sigh at me,” he said over his shoulder, “because right now, I’m not even sure if I want to be your friend.”
She followed him across the room.
A Knight in Central Park Page 17
