by Sharon Booth
'Hardly,' he said. 'Besides, I think we've interfered enough with his mind, don't you? Speaking of which, you still haven't explained why you think this is your fault.'
I puffed out my cheeks. 'Do I have to say?' I asked, knowing it was a hopeless cause, and I was about to humiliate myself in front of them all, not least Blaise.
'Of course you have to say,' Zephyr snapped. 'What do you think this is? We're not here for a game of Twister, you know. This is an official inquiry. You must tell us everything you know.'
I couldn't look at Blaise. I kept my gaze firmly on my lap as I slowly and reluctantly explained exactly what I'd been thinking about yesterday as I stood in front of the shrine dedicated to his memory.
'Then, you had focus and intention,' Aveta said.
'I see we have our answer,' Zephyr announced.
'But I didn't have intention,' I protested. 'Yes, I was daydreaming I'd meet the love of my life, but I did nothing to make it happen. I didn't mean for him to actually be there. I didn't do anything to bring him to me.'
'You're a powerful witch, Celeste,' Aveta said. 'Perhaps the depth of longing in your imaginings was enough to bring him through time.'
'But that's extraordinary,' Bob gasped with reluctant admiration. 'I wouldn't have believed it possible. You must be one heck of a witch.'
'I don't believe it,' Kendrew said, shaking his head firmly. 'No one's capable of bringing another witch forward through time, especially when they haven't meant to. Only the Guardians have that much control over time. Powerful or not, she's just a witch. She couldn't have done it alone. She'd have needed help. Who else is in on this?' he demanded.
'No one,' I pleaded. 'Honestly, I didn't mean to do this, and I have no idea how it happened. You must believe me!'
'Perhaps it was me.'
We all turned to look at Blaise, who was staring at me in wonder.
'Sorry?' Zephyr sounded dazed. 'What do you mean, it was you?'
'I remember,' Blaise whispered. 'Not everything, by any means, but I know I was falling, and I could see the river below me and knew there was nothing I could do to stop it.'
'But why not, I wonder?' Zephyr said. 'You had magic. You could have transported yourself anywhere. Why jump in the first place if you had no intention of avoiding the river?'
'I don't know.' Blaise ran a hand through his hair, looking stressed. 'There — there was a scream. Yes! Someone screamed. A child, I think.' He shook his head. 'Was there a child present? Do I have a child?'
He looked at me, desperation in his eyes.
'No,' I reassured him, 'you don't have a child.'
He leaned back in his chair, relieved. He obviously didn't want any son or daughter of his to have witnessed what happened. 'Some poor child was present,' he mumbled. 'I cannot say who he was. I remember the moment I hit the water. I remember the cold which seeped through my very bones. I remember the shock as the blood turned to ice in my veins. I remember the confusion, the fear. I remember the prayer in my head. Let me find her. Let her guide me to the shore. Please, Lord, let me find her.' He shook his head. 'There was a light — a pure white light. And I saw you,' he said, staring at me in amazement. 'You were there, standing before me on the shore. And I wanted nothing more than to go to you, for I knew that there lay the comfort I craved, and my only chance of escaping death's hand, which groped for me in the darkness of those waters.'
There was a stunned silence. Blaise and I seemed unable to take our eyes off each other, and I wondered if, like me, he was trying desperately to make sense of what had happened. How had he seen me? Yet, hadn't I seen him, too? In those moments before Sirius shouted to me, hadn't I been convinced he'd been right beside me?
'This is incredible,' Zephyr admitted. 'I don't know what to make of it.'
'It seems to me,' Aveta said, 'that somehow, a bond has formed through time between the two of them. Celeste was thinking of Blaise. She imagined him making his way out of the river, towards her. She imagined him safe, alive. Meanwhile, exactly three hundred and fifty years ago, Blaise was pleading for his life, and for someone to — in his own words — guide him to the shore.' She cleared her throat. 'We are all aware Celeste has had a rather strange but fierce attachment to Blaise. In her mother's words, she has formed a somewhat idealistic image of him. She — er — has developed certain feelings for him, shall we say?'
'Hang on,' Amlodd said. 'Are you saying Blaise was praying for some woman to get him out of the water and Celeste, who has a massive crush on him, was imagining him with her, so the two things happening together on the same date, at the same time, caused Blaise to come forward to her time?'
'I can think of no other explanation,' Zephyr admitted. 'Can you?'
We all sat in stunned silence. I could hardly bring myself to look at Blaise. He must think I was a total crackpot. They all must.
'That's some crush,' Bob said eventually. 'But is it enough? I mean, really?'
'For two ordinary witches, definitely not,' Aveta admitted. 'But for Celeste and for Blaise it may have been. In fact, I think we must assume that's what happened. Until Blaise fully recovers his memory, we have no way of knowing for certain what happened. From what he's told us, and from Celeste's version of the story, it seems like one huge coincidence was responsible.'
'Well,' Zephyr said heavily, 'that's inconvenient.'
'It's ever so romantic, though,' Amlodd admitted. He nudged Blaise. 'You're in there, mate.'
Blaise obviously didn't understand what he meant, thank goodness.
'You remember the water,' Zephyr said, turning to Blaise. 'You understand you were in the River Hrafn?'
Blaise's eyes widened. Evidently, he remembered that name at least. 'The Hrafn? So, I was in Castle Clair? I was home?'
'Yes, and you were in Castle Lodge last night,' I explained. 'Do you remember Castle Lodge?'
'I have no real memory of that place,' he confessed. 'But I know I am familiar with Castle Clair and with the Hrafn.'
'Do you remember anything else?' Aveta urged. 'Anything at all?'
He rubbed the back of his head, thinking. 'A light,' he said eventually.
'Yes, yes, we know. You saw a white light on the shore. Celeste saw a golden light in the river. Lights everywhere it seems.'
'No, another light. A blinding flash.' He frowned, trying desperately hard to recall what it was he'd seen that night. 'I was at the castle,' he blurted. 'I remember seeing the wall, and the river below me. My heart — my heart was thudding.' He looked a little ashamed. 'Something was there. Someone was there. I was very much afraid. There was a light.' He shook his head. 'Then it was the water, and I was dying. I could not swim. The cold had rendered me incapable of escape. The water held me in icy bonds, and I would surely have sunk to my doom if it had not been for—' He broke off and gave me a shy smile.
I smiled back. 'It wasn't me who saved you,' I told him. 'It was my brother and my brother-in-law.'
'I owe them a great debt,' he said. 'My kin are brave. I am proud to know that St Clairs still show such courage.' His forehead furrowed suddenly.
'What is it?' I asked.
'I do not know for certain. Another St Clair showed immense courage, but I do not know who it was, or what bravery he displayed. I think — I am almost sure it was on the battlefield.' His eyes lost that baffled look and he sat up straight, his face bright with excitement. 'My father! My father was a soldier. A hero. He fought for the king.'
'The English Civil Wars,' Zephyr said, sounding smug. 'I know all about that. Rafe St Clair took part in the siege of Hull and survived the Battle of Marston Moor. He was a brave man.'
'And he survived the wars,' I added. 'He returned home to Castle Lodge and ...' My voice trailed off. It was probably best not to tell him when his father had finally died. Better he remembered it himself, gradually.
Evidently, Zephyr thought the same, because he changed the subject abruptly. 'The question now,' he said, 'is what to do about this situation.'
'What can we do?' Aml
odd said gloomily. 'He's here now.'
'But should we allow him to stay here?' Bob questioned. 'The twenty-first century isn't where he belongs. Having our seventeenth century boy here might put the cat among the pigeons. You know what the rules say about time travel.'
'In my time,' Blaise ventured, 'to meddle with the laws was forbidden. To move through the years in either direction was considered great folly, and it was believed catastrophe would befall us if anyone even attempted it. Any witch caught trying to manipulate time was punished by death.'
Thanks, Blaise, I thought. Not helping our case.
'It's still forbidden, and for very good reason,' Aveta told him. Seeing the alarm on his face, she patted his hand. 'But no longer punishable by death, I assure you.' She turned to Zephyr. 'I think we need to consider this matter carefully. Whatever we do, the repercussions could be immense. We have to get this right.'
'Well, of course we do,' he said. 'We will adjourn this meeting. We'll return here and deliver our verdict in due course. In the meantime, I confine you two to the hotel and its grounds.' He peered at my wrist. 'Ah, I see your bracelet hasn't been removed, so no transporting. Excellent.'
'Transporting?' Blaise enquired.
'We call it zapping,' I said.
'You would,' Zephyr said, sounding disapproving. 'Instantaneous transportation,' he informed Blaise. 'Do you know what that is?'
'You mean, the means to vanish from one place and reappear in another within the blink of an eye?'
'That's the stuff,' Amlodd confirmed.
'We'll come looking for you when we've made up our minds what to do.' Zephyr peered over his spectacles at Blaise. 'I take it you'll do as I ask and not do a disappearing act?'
Blaise clearly understood what he meant. 'They have given me no bracelet. Clearly, you people understand my word is my bond,' he said solemnly.
Zephyr cleared his throat. 'Hmm, whatever,' he muttered, having obviously decided he wouldn't be the one to break the news to Blaise that his magic had gone missing. He turned his attention to me, giving me an enquiring look.
'And mine,' I assured him. 'So, can we leave this room now?'
'Please, feel free.' Zephyr leaned back in his chair and stretched. 'Bob, where the heck have those breakfasts got to?'
'Oh cripes,' Bob said. 'Forgot all about them. I'd best give the wife a hand. Can you lot start without me?'
Blaise shook his head, overwhelmed by the comings and goings of the High Council.
'If you two want to go to the dining room,' Bob told us, as we pushed back our chairs, 'I'll make sure you get your breakfasts in there straight away.'
'Remember, I'm a vegetarian,' I told him.
He rolled his eyes. 'How could I ever forget? Quorn sausages it is, though what the wife will say about it I don't know. Some flipping Christmas this is turning out to be.'
****
I was all alone with Blaise St Clair. It was like some dream. I'd imagined meeting him, being alone with him so many times; though it has to be said, in my dreams we were never sitting in an empty hotel dining room in Cornwall, and he'd definitely not been wearing my brother's jeans, nor fiddling — rather embarrassingly — with the zip.
'You need to stop that,' I warned him, almost apologetically. 'It's just not done.'
He looked up, puzzled. 'This is such an astounding thing,' he told me. 'How easy it is to fasten clothes these days.'
'Yes, well, even so.'
He dug his hands in his pockets, looking embarrassed. 'I'm sorry. My behaviour is ungentlemanly. I apologise.'
I watched him in awe as he gazed around him, taking in every detail of the room. He looked different, dressed in twenty-first century clothes, but he still had that commanding presence that had been so obvious from his portrait. Those almond-shaped black eyes were sharp, and I knew his mind was working overtime, trying to assess his situation and make sense of something that, from his point of view, must have made no sense.
It was wonderful to see him in the flesh, and not just in the painting that hung on the museum wall. I'd never known for certain how true to life our portrait of Blaise was. Overall, it was a good likeness, I decided, but it had only revealed one aspect of Blaise's character. Commanding, strong, courageous, yes, but in real life there was a vulnerability in him, too, and a softness that revealed itself whenever he looked at me. Had he looked at Jennet that way, I wondered, my spirits sinking as I realised that, at any moment, his memory could return, and he would recall the love of his life waiting for him so far away.
He's not mine, I reminded myself, watching his tall, lean frame easing its way into the chair opposite mine. He's in love with another woman. He just doesn't remember that yet.
Yet when he smiled at me, my legs turned to water.
'I'm sorry if my arrival has caused you trouble, Celeste.'
'Oh, honestly, none of this is your fault. It's mine, if anyone's,' I assured him hastily.
'Because you were thinking of me?' There was a question in his eyes and a slight blush on his cheeks. Blaise St Clair had a shy side?
'I was,' I admitted. 'It was the three hundred and fiftieth anniversary of your d—disappearance. Of course I was thinking of you.'
'I'm not sure I understand,' he said, shaking his head slightly. 'Why would they remember my disappearance so many years later? Why is my name still known?'
'It's a long story,' I told him, 'and I'm not sure you're ready to hear it. Some things are better left for now.'
'What if my memory never returns?' he asked, sounding agitated. 'I need to return home, to my own time. Perhaps there, things will become clear again.'
Return to what? To be hanged as a witch? I longed to ask him if he remembered the name, Tobias Palmer, but I didn't dare. Who knew what harm I could do to him if I forced his memory to return? I was no expert, but in my opinion it would be much better to let it come back in its own sweet time. And if it didn't? I didn't have the answer to that one.
Bob arrived at that moment, carrying a tray with two plates of food, two cups and saucers, spoons and a teapot on it. He banged the tray on the table in front of us.
'Bacon, sausage, black pudding, hash browns, beans, fried egg, tomatoes, mushrooms and toast for the gentleman,' he announced, pushing one plate closer to Blaise. He wrinkled his nose as he looked down at my plate. 'And Quorn sausages, hash browns, tomatoes, mushrooms and toast for the lady.'
'I eat eggs,' I told him.
'Well,' he said, rolling his eyes, 'how was I supposed to know? Can't keep up with dietary demands these days. Kitchen's closed now anyway, so I'm afraid you'll have to lump it. Flaming vegetarians.'
Blaise looked thoroughly confused. 'What's a vegetarian?' he enquired.
'Someone who doesn't eat meat,' I explained.
He looked staggered. 'Why would you not eat meat? Does it make you ill?'
'Because it's cruel to animals,' I said.
'But, 'tis what they are for!' He stared at me as if I were mad, and Bob clapped him on the shoulder.
'That's what I say. Hit the nail on the head there, mate. Anyway, you get stuck in. Prime Cornish pig, that is. You enjoy.' He winked at me. 'Reckon you'll enjoy the tea, if nothing else.'
Bob gave us a cheery wave and left the dining room, no doubt to return to the other members of the High Council, who were, even now, deciding upon the fate of Blaise — and of my fate, no doubt. I realised my appetite had vanished as I contemplated what might happen to us. Would they send Blaise back to 1669 and certain death? Would they strip me of my magic — or worse?
If Blaise was worried about such matters, he gave no sign of it. Hunger had obviously overridden all other priorities. He lifted his knife and then, more slowly, the fork which he examined with interest.
I racked my brains, trying to remember if forks were in usage in 1669, but I wasn't entirely sure.
'It's a fork,' I explained, in case he didn't know what it was. I demonstrated its usefulness by cutting a tiny slice from my Quorn sausage
and popping it into my mouth.
Blaise grinned as he watched me chew. 'I am no imbecile, Celeste. I know how to use a fork.'
'I'm ever so sorry,' I said, swallowing the food with what was probably unwise speed. 'I couldn't remember whether they'd been around much in your time.'
He stroked the fork, looking thoughtful. 'The design has changed somewhat. Our forks have only three tines, and they are not as rounded as this one. Some of my acquaintances don't use them. They consider them — shall we say — less than masculine? My father had no such concerns.'
We stared at each other as what he'd said sank in. 'You remember more about your father?'
'I do. 'Tis most frustrating that I'm given a glimpse into my old life, but no more.' He sighed. 'Do you think it's possible I will one day remember everything? Or am I to be tormented like this for the rest of my life?'
'I'm sure it will all come back eventually,' I assured him. 'After all, you've already remembered a bit, and it's only been a few hours since you arrived. Just try to be patient. In the meantime, eat your breakfast. You've been through a lot and you need feeding up.'
He needed no further encouragement on that score. He tucked in with great eagerness, although it amused me to note his use of the fork was not exactly like mine. He seemed to use it more for holding the meat in place while he cut it and used his knife or fingers for putting food in his mouth. I saw him casting a sneaky look at me and noticed he used his fork the way I was using it after that. It was rather cute to watch, and I loved him for trying so hard to fit in.
'I expect the food seems unfamiliar to you,' I ventured, noticing the way he was prodding the baked beans with obvious suspicion. 'What would you normally have for breakfast?'
He shrugged. 'Bread, beef, mutton, kidneys perhaps.'
Evidently, I hadn't hidden my disgust because he frowned. 'I do not understand your reluctance to eat meat,' he said. 'What do you eat in its place? And what,' he added, jabbing his knife at my Quorn sausage, 'is that, if not meat?'
'It's a micro-protein,' I explained. 'Sort of a fungus. Like — like a mushroom.'
He looked unconvinced by my explanation. 'There's so much about this world I don't understand,' he mused. ''Tis Christmas Day, and outside all is bitterly cold. Yet in here we are warm, though I see no fire.'
