The Amethyst Amulets

by Cillian Burns

  "It looks so beautiful,” said Gwyneth with a sigh. “What think you, my lady?"

  Julie pondered. Something was still missing.

  "Would you like a different kind of decoration to go with what we already have?” The chorus of ayes made her smile. She hoped her introduction of a Christmas symbol, not used at this time, wouldn't change history by becoming popular with anyone other than these particular people.

  "Everyone get your cloaks.” Julie started for her chamber, but Nicholas stopped her, a worried frown creasing his forehead.

  "You should not unduly tax yourself, my love. I will go."

  "Walking is good for pregnant women, Nicholas,” she called after his retreating form.

  He returned in a few minutes with a warm woolen cloak lined with fox fur. He draped it around her shoulders, then tied the string, claiming a kiss as a reward.

  "Now, we need an axe,” she told Rannulf, who had been one of the men helping to bring in the Yule log.

  He looked puzzled. “Will we be a-chopping wood, milady?"

  "Just a little,” she replied, a merry twinkle in her eye.

  When everyone was ready, Julie led the trek to the forest, Nicholas beside her gripping her elbow.

  "Be careful, love.” He seemed worried she might fall over a root or slip in the drifted snow. They had been happy since his return from France, but she felt the shadow of what would happen with the birth of the baby hovering over them. Well, that wouldn't occur today, so she'd best put it out of her mind.

  She twirled around, her eyes searching the wood. She wanted to find the perfect tree to help her forget her worries.

  Finally, she spotted it. “That one, Rannulf.” She pointed.

  "Ye wants me to cut down that tree, milady?” He looked even more puzzled than before.

  "Yes, if you please. Then we'll put it in the great hall and do wonderful things to it."

  "Tell us what,” pleaded Gwyneth and Alda in chorus.

  "Mayhap, Lady Julianne has an idea how to decorate it,” suggested Sir Harald, Nicholas's youngest knight. He had spent the whole day at Gwyneth's side, much to Will's annoyance.

  Julie laughed, adding mysteriously, “Wait and see.” She handed a cloth sack to Sir Harald, suggesting he and the others gather as many large pine cones as would fit. Grinning, he once again grabbed Gwyneth's hand and pulled her away to help him.

  Rannulf heaved the axe several times, toppling the twelve foot tree to the ground. “There ye be, milady,” he said, grabbing it up and slinging it over his shoulder.

  Julie stared. The man was amazingly strong. Remembering her manners, she thanked Rannulf and led the procession out of the forest, then across the snow-covered fields.

  Nicholas still held her close against his side. It felt good to be cherished.

  Caught up in the Christmas spirit, she taught them to sing the carol, ‘Oh, Christmas Tree.’ After only one time through, Nicholas's rich baritone joined her soprano voice.

  "A merry song indeed, Julianne.” His hand squeezed her shoulder. “What will you put on this tree of Christmas?"

  She debated. More red ribbons and gilded pine cones. Could they chance a few lighted candles? Perhaps, with supervision. What else? Paper was scarce, so chains were out. She had several dresses with gold tassels. Clipped off and hung on the tree they would sparkle in the candlelight. Maybe she'd think of something else later.

  "Did you have a tree like this each year?” Nicholas whispered.

  "Oh, yes. I always loved when the colored lights reflected in the glass ornaments and the garlands of tinsel...” She stopped. Nicholas wore an astonished look.

  "You mean you put those electric lights on the tree?"

  The two of them had fallen behind the others and were still speaking softly so they couldn't be overheard.

  "Yes. You remember the outlets in the walls? If you plug anything electrical into them it either lights up or runs—like the dishwasher."

  "Ah, the dishwasher. A marvelous invention. I wish I could have brought one back, but unfortunately, we have no electricity."

  "Just think how many people in your kitchen would be out of a job,” she teased.

  His jaw line hardened. “I often think of how your wonderful century's inventions could improve my world,” he said, gripping her shoulder a little tighter in his intensity.

  "No, Nicholas, we cannot change history...” With a gasp, Julie clamped her gloved hand over her mouth.

  Nicholas froze in his tracks and stared at her. “Which is what we are trying to do, Julie, give Julianne back her life."

  "I know.” For the first time, Julie felt a tremor of fear. Her hand touched her belly and the roundness of the baby within her womb. “Do you think the baby will live?"

  Nicholas nodded. “He did before. I am more worried about you."

  "I'll be all right,” Julie muttered, her hand still rubbing her stomach.

  Although he continued to look worried, Nicholas said nothing else, just took her arm again and began walking toward the castle.

  The mood in the great hall was light and festive that evening. The young women sat at a trestle table gilding the large pine cones Harald and Gwyneth had gathered, while the men made a base for the tree and placed it at one end of the dais. Julie sent Gwyneth to find some brightly colored pieces of cloth. When she returned with a basketful of scraps, Julie suggested they bind them tightly around small bundles of sticks, then hang them on the tree. She herself anchored some small candle stubs in hot wax on small tin plates. Nicholas positioned the ones Julie couldn't reach, while she fixed the lower ones.

  When all was finished, she took a piece of kindling and lit it. Then, with Nicholas's help, she touched it carefully to each candle until the tree glowed with light. The gilding on the pine cones sparkled and the air movement in the hall kept the tassels and brightly colored ‘balls’ swaying.

  "You have created a miracle, sweeting,” Nicholas murmured, taking the opportunity to drop a light kiss on her cheek.

  "Oh, my lady,” cried Gwyneth, “it is so beautiful. How clever you are."

  Julie smiled ruefully. “If I were truly clever, Gwyneth, I would be able to solve all of my problems.” She glanced at Nicholas.

  Pain flashed in his eyes, but she suspected he would not admit to the cause—his fear his wife would die again. Having Julie in Julianne's body would change nothing.

  With Lily gone, she had no one to question. Not that Lily would have told her anything, but it would be reassuring to have her near.

  Julie put aside her sadness. Not wanting to dampen the festivities, she donned a bright smile. “Now, what shall we do for presents?"

  Little Alda clapped her hands. “Presents? Oh, I like that idea.” Alda was still a child at heart and the idea of a gift delighted her.

  Julie smiled at her. “Yes, we must have presents. You know, like the Three Wise Men from the East gave to the baby Jesus."

  "Surely, we will not be expected to find gold, frankincense and myrrh?” Gwyneth looked worried. “We have no such costly things here."

  Julie laughed. “No, Gwyneth, just some small remembrance for a person you like. Go and find such a thing, wrap it in scraps of cloth and put it under the tree. Tomorrow, we will exchange gifts."

  A lot of improvising, but lately, she'd looked forward to anything to break the monotony of sitting huddled near a fireplace the better part of every day. Of course, first thing tomorrow there would be mass, since celebrating the birth of Jesus was the most important part of Christmas.

  Will my baby be all right? All her thoughts seemed to circle back to the birth of her own child, a son, if the events were to repeat. If one part repeated would the rest follow suit? Would the baby's mother die again? Would giving Nicholas a living son at the expense of losing her own life be enough? She didn't think so.

  A burst of laughter from the crowd of young people brought her back to the present. For the moment, loving Nicholas in silence and enjoying him for whatever time sh
e had left would have to do.

  The next day, Eleanor and the boys, escorted by Sir Edgar and a few soldiers, arrived to attend the Christmas feast. Much to the disappointment of Gwyneth and Alda, Julie decided opening the gifts should wait until after dinner. First, the giving of annual bonuses to the people who farmed Nicholas's large demesne were dispensed. The bonuses consisted of food, clothing, drink and firewood, things which were their traditional Christmas due. Everyone joined in caroling, and the entertainment, arranged earlier by Nicholas, kept the crowd in a good humor.

  Julie absorbed it all, delighted with the wealth of material she was gleaning for the book of thirteenth century songs and courtly love she still hoped to write someday. Recently, she'd decided to expand the subject to document festivals and various forms of medieval entertainment. If she survived childbirth and was then unlucky enough to be sent back to her own time, she would start work on the book. Perhaps keeping busy would help fill the empty days. Although she doubted anything could replace the loss of Nicholas and their baby, if given the opportunity, she would see her book to a successful conclusion, since that had always been her goal.

  Eleanor, seated beside Julie at the lord's table, leaned close and whispered in her ear, “Julianne, I am happier now than in all the years I spent with Miles. Thank goodness my brother defeated him. Speaking of my husband, is he still a captive in the dungeon? Nicholas has not ordered him beheaded, has he?"

  Julie shook her head. “No. I believe Miles is sitting none too happily in our dungeon, guarded around the clock. Will told me he heaps all kinds of curses on Nicholas's head—and yours. Somehow, Miles got the idea you helped me get word to your brother to come home immediately."

  Eleanor laughed. “I surely would have, if I could. Although Miles let me visit you several times, I could do nothing secretive. His men watched me like a hawk does his prey."

  "Will says the guards no longer speak to Miles. Just let him rave. I suppose he will become a lunatic, that is if you don't think he's one already."

  "I am glad he is well-guarded. I tremble to think of the consequences should he escape."

  "Oh, there's no way he could get out.” Julie smiled, thinking that Nicholas's men would never allow that to happen.

  Eleanor glanced down at Julie's stomach where the child had begun to make his presence both seen and felt. “How does your babe?"

  In a protective gesture, Julie stroked the mound of her belly. “He's growing bigger daily. His hands and feet must trouble him because he's into hitting and kicking."

  Eleanor chuckled. “It will be worse before it gets better. I swear boys know they are destined to become warriors. They practice their swordplay before they even make an appearance.

  "That's what it feels like,” Julie murmured.

  "When is he due?"

  "The middle of April.” Three and a half months to go, a little over a hundred days before she'd know how the rest of her life would be spent, or even if she'd live.

  Eleanor referred to the baby as a boy, a warrior. Could she remember helping with Julianne's delivery the last time around or was it just wishful thinking for Nicholas's sake? Would history repeat itself until the participants got it right? Whenever she tried to figure out what was expected of them, she ended up frustrated.

  A man began to sing and accompany himself on a lyre, so Julie fell silent. Music was supposed to have a calming effect. She hoped it worked.

  Nicholas laid his hand over hers where it rested on the table. He had been speaking to Edgar on his other side while she conversed with Eleanor. Now, he turned his attention back to her.

  "Edgar likes your tree, dearling.” She heard the love and admiration in his voice and saw it in his eyes.

  "I'm glad. It was fun decorating it."

  Eleanor heard and chimed in. “How did you get such a unique idea, Julianne? Did they have a tree in your keep when you were a girl?"

  Well, a half-truth was better than a lie, so Julie said, “Yes, we had a tree every year. It became quite a ritual, the cutting and the decorating."

  Before she left home to teach at Cambridge, she and her parents would go to a friend's wood each year in the middle of December where she chose an evergreen for her dad to chop down. They tied the tree on top of the car and when they got home, they'd shake off the snow and drag it inside. Her dad set it up and strung lights, while she and her mum hung the balls and gold tinsel.

  She watched as the young folks began to exchange gifts. Just thinking about her family's Christmas tradition brought tears to her eyes. Eleanor didn't notice. But Nicholas did.

  "Are you sad, love?” He slid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him. Heat surged through her. Each time he touched her, she felt wrapped in a warm cocoon of need, desire and caring. “One should be happy in this joyful season,” he added. Suddenly, he tensed. “Do you feel all right? Is the baby kicking?"

  His tender concern swept away her nostalgia, made her forget her fears and sadness, made her want only him for the rest of her life, no matter what happened.

  "No, I'm fine. I was just thinking about my family.” One she might never see again. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She averted her gaze to the merrymakers roaming the great hall, to prevent Nicholas from seeing her sorrow.

  Gwyneth teased Will by continually snatching the gift she had made him out of his reach. Each time he tried to take it from her, she giggled, skipping away. Harald watched with a scowl on his face this time.

  Nicholas followed her gaze and grinned. “Methinks young Will has his hands full with Lady Gwyneth."

  Relieved to change the subject, Julie nodded. “They seem fond of one another. Perhaps they would make a good match.” Having once promised Gwyneth to help them, Julie thought this a good opportunity.

  He frowned. “I would see Gwyneth wed to someone older, not a squire who has yet to be knighted."

  Julie shifted her weight in the chair, easing the pressure of the baby. “Perhaps they are right for each other, despite Will's youth."

  "When he has fought some battles, been wounded, seen something of the world, has some kind of prospects, ‘twill be time enough to think of marriage.” He reached over and patted her hand in a patronizing way.

  "Aren't you full of yourself,” Julie exclaimed, irritated by his know-it-all attitude.

  He glared at her. “Sometimes you surpass even Lily in strange expressions."

  She snorted and looked away. Several long minutes passed.

  Finally, Nicholas said rather gruffly, “I am sorry, Julianne. Your words are just different, not strange. In no way are you like Lily.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

  Unable to maintain her huff, Julie laughed. “Well, I should hope not."

  "Methinks you should have a rest. This day has been hard on you."

  She started to protest until his heated gaze stopped her. He had something other than rest for her on his mind. Stifling a laugh, she rose, excusing herself. “I think I will lie down for a while. I tire so easily these days."

  "A good idea,” agreed Eleanor. Her amused expression told Julie she knew exactly why Nicholas had suggested a nap for his wife.

  Nicholas stood, offering his arm. His intent was so obvious, she nearly giggled. Hopefully, none of the others could read him like they did.

  "I think you mean to lie down, my lord, but you do not intend to rest,” she whispered.

  The slow curve of his mouth told her the answer.

  Miles strode the length, then the breadth of his cubicle. Three paces one way, two the other. Nine by six. The guard stood at the top of the stairs, his back to Miles, watching the revels through the half open door. The faint sounds of distant laughter wafted down to Miles’ cold, stinking cell. Not that he lacked the basic amenities. There were blankets, a pot to relieve himself and a basin of water in which to wash. He hated Nicholas all the more for this generosity not always granted a prisoner.

  Suddenly, voices closer than the great hall drew his attention once again to the t
op of the stairs. After a moment, his guard descended and approached the metal bars which formed the front of his cell.

  "Yer got a visitor, my high and mighty lord,” the man sneered.

  Miles nodded, biting his tongue to keep from roaring at the guard's disrespectful tone. He was curious about who stood on the landing above. If he vented his rage the way he wanted to, the guard might refuse to allow whoever it was to speak to him.

  "I will see him."

  "Right ye be, but for five minutes only.” The guard looked up the stairs and motioned to the visitor, who started down. The guard stomped back up to his post, probably anxious to be where he could at least hear some of what he was missing in the Twelfth Night revels.

  Only one fitful torch burned in the wall socket opposite Miles’ cell. In its flickering light, he saw a man he had long ago placed within Nicholas's keep as a servant. He had not actually forgotten about the man, but as time passed and the servant did not contact him, Miles had begun to think the man had either died or moved on to more gainful employment.

  "Well, Cuthbert, I had begun to despair of ever seeing you,” Miles said sarcastically, barely refraining from rebuking the man for his lack of initiative. He had learned long ago, when to incite fear and when to feign praise. For now, he chose a middle ground.

  He waved his hand as though sweeping away any recriminations. “But you are here now. What news do you bring me?"

  "Not much news, milord. Sir Edgar runs yer keep and the soldiers obey him gladly. ‘Tis said he is fair. ‘Tis also said he has a fondness for your lady."

  "What?” Miles bellowed, then lowered his voice. He did not want the guard to come running to see what was wrong. “Does she return his attention?"

  "Not to my knowledge, if ye mean is he tupping her. They eat together and seem to find pleasure in one another's company, according to my source at yer keep."

  "He touches Eleanor and he is a dead man,” snarled Miles, momentarily forgetting he had no means of carrying out this threat. He balled his hands into fists. After a moment, he contained his rage and asked, “How fare my sons?"