He’s asking me for an answer, she thought. He’s safe now. And what am I going to do?
“So what are you going to do?” asked Alison, as she helped Olivia out of her gown. She stood back to let Olivia step out of the folds of the dress, then hopped onto the bed with a little bounce as Olivia bent to pick up the heavy garment.
“About what?” Olivia asked carefully.
“You know what about,” Alison replied. “We have to talk about this, Livvie.”
Olivia sighed. She climbed onto her side of the bed. “I know.”
“Are you sure you love Nicholas? Enough to give up everything you have for him?”
Olivia hesitated. “He asked me to marry him.”
“And what did you say?”
“I didn’t say anything. The guard came and told us time was up.”
It was Alison’s turn to hesitate. “Do you want to marry him, Livvie?”
“I think I do.”
Alison grabbed Olivia’s hand and squeezed. “You have to be very sure about this, you know that? You won’t be able to come back—”
“For another forty years, I know.”
“So you think you want to stay here? And marry Nicholas?”
Olivia gently pulled away from Alison and walked to the one window. A soft breeze blew in from the street, bringing with it the odors of the stables, and the kitchens.
“You know, it’s funny, Allie, but I could never imagine a life beyond my father. After he died, and I could see the end of his work in sight, I could just never imagine doing anything—”
“That’s not true, Liv, you talked about drama school, about being an actress—”
“I talked about those things. But I could never see myself doing any of them. The whole future seemed so—so blank. Until we came here. And I can see myself here, married to Nicholas, the mother of his children—oh, Allie, maybe this all sounds crazy to you, but it’s like, here, I feel I have a life. Back there—back there, I don’t feel as though I have much of anything at all.”
“What about me?”
“Well, of course, there’s you, but—but you have your own life to live, Allie. You know exactly what you want and how to get it, and you know where you belong and—”
Olivia broke off and glanced out the window. Below the window the watch cried out, “’Tis twelve of the clock, and all is well.” Olivia turned back to Alison with a sad smile. “I’ve never really known any of those things.”
“But you feel you belong here?”
“Strange as that might sound, Allie, I do.”
“Then you should stay here.” Alison gave her a sad smile of her own, and a tear slipped down her cheek. “I’ll miss you.”
Tears filled Olivia’s eyes. “Oh, Allie, I’ll miss you, too.” With a little sob, she rushed to Alison’s side and the two friends hugged each other tightly, tears rolling down their cheeks.
Finally, Alison drew back. She sniffed loudly and wiped her face on her sleeve. “Well. Now that that’s settled, there’s just one more thing.”
“What’s that?” Olivia managed to say, wiping away her own tears on the hem of her shift.
“Convincing Geoffrey he belongs in the future with me.”
And through her tears, Olivia giggled. “Somehow, Allie, I don’t think that’s going to be a chore at all. Not at all.”
“You want to do what?” Nicholas turned incredulous eyes on his brother. The setting sun slanted across the table in Nicholas’s study as Geoffrey shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Nicholas’s unexpectedly prolonged absence had meant that he’d been closeted in his study with Miles ever since their arrival at Talcott Forest that afternoon.
“You heard me, Nicholas.” Geoffrey’s voice was even, but his eyes danced with suppressed excitement.
“But—but, Geoffrey, that means you’ll never come back—you’ll be trapped there—”
Geoffrey broke out laughing. “Oh, Nicholas. From the way Alison’s described it, I don’t think I’ll be trapped at all.” He broke off at the stricken look on his brother’s face. “Don’t you see, Nicky?” he asked softly. “You don’t need me here. You need Olivia. And Dee’s quite clear, two people have to go through the maze, or it won’t work. There’s not enough mass to trigger the mechanism otherwise.”
“How noble of you.” Nicholas met his brother’s gaze with a wink.
“All right, I admit it. I find Alison as attractive as you find Olivia. I’m not sure she’ll ever consent to marry me—but following her to her own time is a first step.”
Nicholas leaned back in his chair. “Then, go, Geoffrey. With my blessing.” The two brothers exchanged another long look.
“Thank you, Nick. That means a great deal to me.”
Nicholas smiled wryly. “At least then I won’t have to worry that you’ll be burned at the stake.”
At the door, Geoffrey turned back with his hand on the latch. “You know, Nicholas, I wish I could tell you I’m sorry for all the trouble I caused you, but under the circumstances, I don’t think I can.”
Nicholas nodded slowly, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Under the circumstances, I don’t think you have anything to apologize for, either.”
He found her waiting in the garden, where the last rays of the setting sun shone in long yellow beams through the hedge of the maze. “You talked to your brother?” She spoke over her shoulder as he approached.
“Yes. And you spoke with your friend?”
“Yes.” She turned to face him, smiling.
“So it’s all settled, then?”
“It seems to be.” She nodded.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
There was a long pause while she considered her answer. “Yes,” she said at last, a smile spreading across her face like the light of the rising sun. “Are you?”
He smiled back at the happiness in her eyes. “Yes,” he replied at once. “Never surer.”
The dark figure stole through the thick shadows beneath the trees. The moonless night was still—without the great house, all was quiet beneath the cloud-studded sky. With a catlike agility, the figure scaled one of the trees that gathered so closely to the house. With a knife, he jimmied the frame around the small square window and pushed it outside. It caught almost soundlessly in the leaves below.
Christopher Warren slithered through the window. He wore only a tight-fitting black doublet over his black hose and boots, and his sword was strapped tightly to his back. He sheathed the knife as he crept silently through the halls of the sleeping house.
He passed the room where Olivia lay sleeplessly beside Alison. She shifted on her side, then lifted her head off the pillow when she thought she heard a footstep outside the door. She listened. The footsteps sounded as though they were going away from the door. She rose up on one elbow and glanced over her shoulder at Alison. As usual, Alison slept peacefully, her face pillowed on her hand.
Olivia slid out of bed and tiptoed to the door. She slipped the latch up and peered outside. Yes, that was the creak at the bottom of the steps. Was Nicholas as sleepless as she?
She shut the door and stole down the hallway, listening to the faint footfalls, which walked quickly in the direction of Nicholas’s study.
Warren walked with purposeful steps through the house, grimly focused on the task at hand. His fingers closed on the hilt of his sword, the palm itchy to plunge it into Nicholas’s chest. He pushed open the door of Nicholas’s study. Beyond the study lay Nicholas’s bedroom. Maybe the bitch would be with him. And he’d slay two birds with one sword. He laughed silently at his own black humor and stepped into Nicholas’s bedroom.
“Who’s there?” Nicholas’s voice was cold, alert and wary.
Warren blinked, momentarily dismayed to find him awake. With a cry, he rushed in the direction of the shadowy bed, and the white-clad figure within it.
Nicholas rolled away when he saw Warren’s dark shape coalesce out of the shadows, the raised sword shining in the starli
ght. He reached for his own weapon and landed on his bare feet on the other side of the bed. “Warren, you’re mad.”
“Am I?” Warren hissed, stepping away from the bed.
In the shadows, Nicholas could see the silvery blade glimmering. He moved warily away from the corner, easing toward Warren to give himself more maneuverability. His own sword jerked up instinctively as Warren rushed in to attack.
With a great cry, Nicholas leapt to the offensive, and the blades crossed and rang. “You came to let me kill you, Warren?” he spat at the other man.
“I’ll see you dead.” Warren reversed his attack, lunging at Nicholas’s chest. Nicholas parried and riposted, his short nightshirt billowing. The tip of Warren’s blade caught in the fabric, ripping a slit across the shoulder and catching in Nicholas’s flesh. He cried and twisted away, thrusting his hilt at Warren’s sword.
The clash of weapons, the thud of footfalls, and the sporadic cries brought Olivia speeding into the study. She paused, horrified, in the doorway, staring at the two men fighting in the dark bedroom. Without a word, she turned on her heel and sped down the hallway, up the steps toward Geoffrey’s room. She hammered on the door until he opened it, his hair tousled, his nightshirt rumpled. “Geoffrey, come quickly, please—Nicholas is fighting someone—please—”
He stared at her a moment as her words registered, then reached for his own sword and dashed down the stairs. “Get Miles,” he cried.
Olivia rushed into the kitchens, where a low fire glowed in one of the wide hearths.
Geoffrey paused in the doorway, assessing the situation. The two men were fighting at very close quarters, circling around each other, slashing at each other in the barely adequate light. As his own eyes adjusted, he realized Nicholas was slowly losing the upper hand, as Warren forced him closer and closer into the corner. He waited for just the right second, then leapt into the fray.
The two brothers were closing in on Warren when the bright glow of a lantern fell over their shoulders, illuminating Warren’s sweat-slicked face. “Lord Nicholas!” cried Miles, entering the room with Jack on his heels.
Warren raised his sword to block a blow of Geoffrey’s, and in that moment, Nicholas lunged. The blade pierced the thick leather doublet and slid between Warren’s ribs. His eyes widened in shock, then he crumpled to the floor.
Nicholas backed away as Miles, Jack, and Olivia crowded closer, all talking at once.
“Are you all right, Nicholas?” Olivia’s voice rose above the rest.
He turned and reached for her with his left hand, his right still gripping the hilt of his sword. He pulled her to him, and she clung to him carefully, fearful that he might be hurt. “Are you all right?” she asked once more.
“I am,” he said against her hair. “I’m quite all right. A few scratches, nothing more.” He looked at Geoffrey. “Thank you.”
“It was Olivia who came to get me.”
“How did you know?” Nicholas asked, as Miles gently took the sword out of his hand and tried to coax him to the bed. Jack had summoned Janet, and now she bustled in, with a tray full of ointments, to assess the wounds.
“I heard someone go by in the hallway—I thought it might have been you—” she blushed unexpectedly. Nicholas smiled, and Geoffrey hid a grin.
“I see,” he said with a wink, as Janet pushed him to sit on the bed.
“Come, come, Lord Nicky, you’ve got more than a scratch or two on you—Jack, don’t stand there gaping, fetch Ned and Tom from the stables to move this one—”
She indicated Warren. “He lives?”
“Aye,” Miles said, looking up from where he crouched beside Warren’s prone body. “But the blade went in deep—I doubt he’ll survive.”
“See to him, Miles,” said Nicholas. “The man’s mad with grief and hate. If he recovers, he can answer for his crimes, although I’m not sure he’s really responsible.”
With a muttered assent, Geoffrey directed the men to carry Warren to the hall, where a makeshift pallet had been set up. Janet finished binding the last of Nicholas’s wounds. A sling, which Janet had insisted upon, and Nicholas had protested was unnecessary, bound his right arm to his chest, and a white strip wound around his chest. She straightened up with a sniff. “Now mind you don’t go moving about, Lord Nicky. They’ll open up again, and I must have a look tomorrow, when I can see better. Imagine—attacking good folk in their beds in the middle of the night! It’s not Christian.”
She bustled away, and Olivia and Nicholas were alone. “You thought it was me, hmm?”
“I thought it could’ve been you,” she said, feeling embarrassed once more.
“Tomorrow night it will be me,” he replied, reaching out to finger one long dark curl. He picked up the silky strand and brought it to his mouth. She moved just a little closer, as the now familiar heat flared deep. It spread through her body in a slow, steady wave. He smiled at her, and she drew closer. His left arm closed around her, and she melted into his embrace, her mouth soft beneath his kiss. “But tonight,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear, “tonight, you’ll stay with me.”
“And all the nights after that,” she murmured, as he drew her mouth to his once more.
EPILOGUE
“DID YOU SAY you found this painting at a pub in Kent?” William Danecourt peered over his spectacles at Alison and Geoffrey. “Which your friend—Miss Olivia Lindsley—tentatively believes to be the Dark Lady? Someone named Olivia, Lady Talcott?”
“Yes, yes,” said Alison. “As I explained to you on the phone, we happened to see this picture on our way to Talcott Forest, where Olivia was planning to do some research. She’s finishing up the work for her father—the late David Owen Lindsley?”
“Ah.” Danecourt lifted his pale blond brows. His tailored gray suit and crisp blue cotton shirt belonged on a man twice his age, thought Alison, who guessed him to be about twenty-four. Despite his youth, he seemed as stuffy as the portrait of his father appeared to be, which hung in the tastefully furnished foyer of “Danecourt & Son—Appraisers of Antique Artifacts.” Olivia said they were the best in London.
“Look, would you just take a look at it for me? Tell me what you can about the painting? I know your father’s not here, but could you—?”
“Certainly, Miss O’Neill.” He bent over the painting with a magnifying glass, surveying it carefully.
Alison glanced at Geoffrey. He was looking very comfortable in rumpled khakis and a denim work shirt. They’d been in the twentieth century for over a week now, and Geoffrey was settling in remarkably well, and far better than she’d been able to adjust to the sixteenth. He certainly seemed to be enjoying himself, except for their being in the awkward position of having to make explanations regarding Olivia’s disappearance. As for culture shock, he was adapting quickly.
Danecourt murmured to himself several times, then turned the portrait over. He ran his fingers over the canvas, then frowned when he reached the bottom. “Hmm,” he said.
“What is it?” Alison asked eagerly.
“This is somewhat odd….” He ran his fingers over the lower portion of the canvas back. “It almost feels as if there’s a packet of some sort behind this. As if this….” He cut the canvas carefully along the bottom of the frame. “Look here. Just as I thought. It’s a double canvas. There’s something under here.”
Alison squeezed Geoffrey’s hand. She knew in her gut that Olivia had left some message, something tangible…. “Hmm,” said Danecourt again, as he lifted a slim leather packet from between the two layers. “What’s this?”
“What do you suppose it could be?” Alison asked, but even as she spoke, she knew the answer.
“Would you like to open it?” Danecourt asked.
“No, no, that’s okay. You go ahead.” She clutched Geoffrey’s hand tighter.
Danecourt’s long pale fingers swiftly unwrapped the thin leather. Within lay a sheaf of parchment sheets. “I say, what have we here?” He picked up one and began to re
ad it to himself. He put it down, his mouth working silently. He read another, and then another, and his eyes grew wider and wider, and Alison wanted to giggle.
“Oh, my God.” He took a short gulp of air. “Oh, my God. Oh. My. God.” He took a deeper breath, then, without looking at either Alison or Geoffrey, dashed out of the room, calling, “Melissa! Melissa! Where’s that number my father left?”
Alison looked at Geoffrey. “I knew she’d leave something there somehow. I just didn’t want to damage the painting in any way.”
“What is it?” he asked. “Don’t you want to know?”
“I know what it is. It’s the play that Shakespeare wrote for Nicholas—well, for Olivia, really. His first play. The one the acting troupe performed at Greenwich. That no one ever knew about, until now. He gave it to her before we left London.”
“Ah.” Geoffrey touched the yellowed parchments carefully. “So amazing.”
“Yeah. It was. The whole thing’s been really amazing.”
“There’s something written on the back here. Alison…” Geoffrey was peering into the opened canvas backing. “Here, on the portrait’s real back.”
“What’s it say?” She leaned over to have a look, then smiled as she read the words. “‘And they lived happily ever after.’ That’s Olivia’s handwriting.” she murmured. “I guess sometimes fairy tales do come true.”
“What do you mean?” asked Geoffrey. He gently touched the side of her cheek where a tear had slipped unheeded down her face.
“Well, that’s how they always end, you know. With what she wrote there: ‘And they lived happily ever after.’”
He drew her to him, and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. She felt her head slip naturally into the hollow of his chest, and felt a deep sense of comfort, of belonging and acceptance. Well, why not, she thought with a silent chuckle. We’ve known each other over four hundred years.
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