"Fifteen years?"
"That's how long I've been looking for you, Jane," he said. His expression was sad, eyes full of regret. "What I did to you was unspeakable."
"You could say that again."
"Anything for my lady." He tilted his head and repeated with the faintest of smiles, "It was unspeakable."
"I am not your lady." Tears stung her eyes. She looked for something to throw. The aromas of honey and nuts and flaky pastry were coming from the linen bundle. She lobbed it at Wolfe's head. He ducked, and it hit the door with a heavy splat. "You had no right doing what you did!"
"I know. Believe me, Jane, I know. It was unspeakable. I never meant to do it. Wouldn't have done it if I hadn't had a few glasses of champagne in me. What I had planned," he explained, "was to ask you to volunteer after I sent a few more test animals through and got them back. I knew it was too risky to try with humans yet. You wouldn't have gone alone. Or for long. I do remember thinking you'd be so eager to get involved that I had some supplies and costumes made for you."
"None of which you recognized."
"I never saw them. I ordered them and the supplies. They were delivered, and I used them the same day. I don't even know what-all was in those bags. I said, trade goods. Carlyle got me trade goods."
"Well, why didn't you ask Carlyle?"
"I couldn't. He got killed in the earthquake."
"Earthquake? What earthquake? The one that devastated Chicago and northern Illinois in the spring of 2002," she said, answering her own question. She looked at him in shock. "I just remembered. It's one of the things I saw when I got a look at the future. I'd forgotten all about that. I saw so much so fast. And you wouldn't listen to any of it."
He nodded. "I know. If I had, maybe some of the disaster could have been prevented. I certainly wouldn't have spent my life the way I have." He spread his hands before him. "To think I owe everything I am to you."
His sarcasm galled her. "Right," she snapped. "All my doing." Her hands landed on her hips. She didn't remember getting to her feet. "Don't you go dissing me, home boy!"
He blinked. "I wouldn't dream of it," he answered in his bland, twenty-first-century voice. It sounded very odd coming from a man dressed in chain mail.
"I'm not showing you disrespect, Jane," he went on. "I did come looking for you. It was the least I could do. I never thought I'd find you, but I didn't stop looking," he went on earnestly. "Then when I did find you, I didn't recognize you, I fell in love with you."
Love was the last word she wanted to hear out of David Wolfe's mouth. The word would have been sweet coming from Daffyd. From Wolfe it sounded like the worst kind of mockery. How could she believe anything the man said? Trust anything he did?
She had to armor herself against him.
"Such a noble quest," she mocked him. "Such a perfect knight. Such a champion devoted to my cause. Ha. People don't go on Crusade where we come from. Or go on quests for the Grail."
He looked stung, stunned. There was hurt deep in his eyes. His voice was rough, less self-satisfied when he spoke. "It's what I did, Jane. People can still have consciences in our time. Try to right wrongs. I came looking. With very little to go on," he continued. "Records were lost. Your town house in De Kalb was destroyed. All the photographs I was able to come up with were of a younger you. I didn't know what you looked like."
"You knew me!" she reminded him. Loudly.
"Vaguely. My memory wasn't precise or objective." He gave a dry, humorless laugh. "I was twenty, Jane. You seemed ancient to me, at least six or seven years older. A dry, dusty woman in glasses, with long brown hair, who never took important research or me seriously."
"Dry and dusty!" she flared indignantly. "I was never dry and dusty. Even when I wore glasses!" She tossed her veiled head. "Hmmph."
He tried not to smirk but didn't succeed. "Yes, well. I was a bit immature for my age. My mind on my work. I'm afraid in my youth I was a bit of a—"
"Geek," she supplied with a nasty smile.
"Yes. Afraid so."
"You've changed." She eyed him closely. "How? What happened to you?"
He looked as if he didn't think she'd believe him. She probably wouldn't. He went on. "Fifteen years happened to me. Months for you, years for me. Time travel is a bit complicated, as I've said." His laugh was soft and hollow. "How does the line from the old movie go? 'It's not the years, it's the mileage'?"
He was being charming. She hated it when he was charming. And contrite. She didn't want to believe a word of it, even though the changes in him were so obvious. It was hard to believe a man like Wolfe—the Wolfe she remembered—could have such a guilty conscience. She might actually believe it of Daffyd. Daffyd her protector. Daffyd her savior. Her lover. Daffyd was strong and responsible. He had humor and wit; he understood duty. How could she reconcile Daffyd with David?
But maybe it was all a line. An excuse. Maybe he'd been arrogant enough to think his machine was perfect, and he'd stepped through for a little look himself. Stepped through and been unable to return. Maybe he'd been looking for her because he thought she held some kind of key for his own return to their time. Or he didn't have anything better to do.
"I arrived here three months ago," she said slowly, trying to piece together the differences in their arrivals and experiences. "But you arrived at—"
"Fontrevault Abbey in Anjou. In the west of France. I vaguely remember saying something in my drunken ramblings about Fontrevault being in the south. If I'd been a bit more precise in my geography, perhaps . . ." He trailed off with a shrug. "I've traveled a long way, in heart and mind as well as miles, my dear."
A shrug. He shrugged all the time. She should have noticed it about him. But it seemed such a natural gesture to her. It was so uncommon for this more formal era. She'd tried to be careful of her own body lan-
guage. Of her speech. Of her behavior. Why hadn't she noticed the anomalies in him? His body language was wrong. And he didn't have any scars. He was a warrior. He posed as a warrior. Why hadn't she noticed something so obvious as his perfectly smooth, unmarked, gorgeous skin? And he didn't speak the language of the land he said he was from. "Why Wales?"
"What? Why did I choose to say I'm Welsh? My mother's family was from Cardiff. Will be. Tenses get to be a problem."
"Tell me about it. How old are you?"
"I told you, it's been fifteen years. I'm thirty-five."
Fifteen years. He'd been back here that long? How had he survived? "How'd you end up working for King John?"
"I've worked for King Richard as well. Interesting man, Richard. He asked me for a date, once. Wasn't particularly upset when I politely declined." He gave her a casual shrug. "Being in the king's service gave me the mobility and authority I needed to conduct my search. Being a fighter was the quickest route to the information I needed to access."
"Not to mention fortune and glory," she added.
"It's better to be a noble than a peasant, yes," he agreed. "As you seem to understand."
"I was lucky." She crossed her arms as goose bumps prickled up her skin. Some of the possibilities of what could have befallen her flashed across her mind. "If Stephan hadn't found me, I don't know what would have become of me. I ended up chatelaine of a castle by accident. You chose your career."
As she spoke the words, the dreadful implications of what the man had done hit her. "Oh, my God! Wolfe, how could you? You flung me back here to stop me from changing the future. Of all the stupid—"
"Rather a stupid idea, wasn't it?" he concurred.
"But what you've done is worse. Much worse."
"What are you talking about?"
"You deliberately took service with the kings of England. You move in the circles of power. You come into contact with the men who shape policy," she lectured him. She stalked the length of the room to look the man deeply in the eye. "You were so afraid I was going to change the future. You think nothing of using the very means that could change e
verything we know for your own purposes." Yes, this was the Wolfe she knew all right. "You hypocrite. What have you done that could change history? What inadvertent words or actions of yours have affected the course of history?"
He put his hands on her shoulders, holding her eyes with his. He said with conviction and sincerity, "I've been careful. Very, very careful. I haven't changed a thing. I assure you, sweet Jehane. I've done nothing to affect the energy flow we call history. And now that I've found you, I no longer need the use of kings and soldiers or any of the other tools I used to find you." He gave a deep, regretful sigh, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly. "Perhaps now I can start to live my own life. If time allows."
For a moment the familiarity of his touch comforted her, the look in his eyes soothed her. Then he was looking inward, away from her. She didn't know what he was thinking, but it didn't appear to be a pleasant prospect. If time allowed . . . what did
he mean? she wondered. Couldn't they leave? Were they trapped?
She took a deep breath and made herself ask, "Do you mean you can't go back? Can't be David Wolfe instead of Daffyd ap Bleddyn? There's no going home?"
His greenish eyes suddenly sparkled with angry fire. "Go back? Go home?" The words were laced with bitterness and pain. She wanted to hold him. "There's no way to change anything that's happened."
She stepped back and he released her. She turned her back to him. She didn't want him to see how much the knowledge of the finality of their situation affected her. She didn't cry. She didn't think there were any tears left. She hadn't had any hope. She'd coped with the world as it was. She was resigned. Until she'd fallen in love. But she'd even thought she could cope with that. Then she'd found out who Wolfe was, and for a few hours, if only in the back of her mind, hope of return to the twenty-first century sparked in her. The spark was dead now. Ashes. Nothing left. She'd have to go on. Survive as she'd been surviving. Alone. Without the man she loved. He didn't exist.
She would be all right, she told herself, refusing to give in to the weary despondency threatening to overwhelm her. This was her world now. After tonight she would never speak or think in English again. She would concentrate on what she had, be content with the world as it was. Her world was Passfair and Stephan and Sibelle and Jonathan and . . . and filth and disease and routiers and murder and rape and John and assassins.
Assassins.
John.
"Oh, my God!"
Her head came up sharply. Her hands flew to her mouth. She spun back to Daffyd. "King John! They're going to kill King John!"
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Daffyd grabbed her shoulders with his hands as hard as steel. He shook her. "What are you screaming about, woman? Who's going to kill the king?"
"I was looking for you," she explained breathlessly. "I was going to tell you, but then you weren't you and I forgot all about it and now it may be too late, but I stabbed one of them and—"
He shook her hard. "Jehane! Stop babbling. Calm down. Talk to me. Tell me." Another hard shake. "Talk."
His face had turned to stone, hard, carved planes of cheekbone and aquiline nose and sensual lips thinned to a hard line. His eyes burned purposefully at her out of this carved stone mask. They caught her, calmed her.
"The two men who attacked me in the courtyard," she said more coherently.
"DeBourne and FitzWilliam. Two of John's favorites. Scum. They plan to kill John?"
She nodded. "Yes. I saw them earlier today. It's a long story."
"That's all right. Go on."
She drew a deep breath and tried to put her thoughts in order. Never mind Wolfe. Daffyd would take care of this! "I overheard them plotting to assassinate the king. They aren't going to do it themselves. Hugh of Lilydrake's in on the plot. He's to be the actual killer. They plan to blame Stephan, or Sibelle's father, I think."
"Lilydrake." He gave a sharp nod. "When?"
"Tomorrow."
His eyes looked past her, toward the alcove doorway. She turned her head to follow. The curtain was pushed back. Night sky showed through the window. "How long until dawn?" she wondered.
"Not long."
They stood together silently for a few heartbeats, antagonism put aside, thoughts of the future distilled to concentrating on the day ahead. Jane felt curiously at peace. This is the way it must be, she thought. One day at a time.
As the silence drew out between them she became aware of something different in the environment, something unusual and wrong. Silence. Where was the usual silence? She was so used to silence in the dark of her room. But she could hear noise. It was distant and faint, but still there when it shouldn't be. It puzzled and disturbed her. What was it? Where was it coming from? She concentrated, listening intently.
"The hall," she said, breaking the silence between herself and Daffyd. "There are people in the hall. Everyone was asleep when you dragged me up here."
"The party's been going on for some time," he said. "You just noticed?"
Jane nodded.
"I think your adventure in the courtyard must have gotten things stirred up," he told her. He ran his thumb along the line of his jaw, and she heard the scratch of beard stubble. "Perhaps we should join them," he suggested.
She stiffened, pulling away from the circle of his arms. Rounding on him, she proclaimed, "It's the routiers down there. Can't you hear their drunken shouting? I don't know what they're doing, but I don't want any part of it. What about the king?" she reminded him. "I thought you didn't want to change history."
"I don't intend to change history." His insufferable smirk appeared. "Where do you think the king is right now?"
From the look on his face, there could be only one answer to the question. "Partying hard with Louvre-caire's men?" she ventured.
"It seems a logical guess," he affirmed. "Otherwise Stephan would have driven the revelers out of doors by now. A young lord needs his rest, after all."
"You're clever," she complained. "And smug, and I hate you very, very much."
"Yes, love, I know. Come along." He urged her toward the door.
She resisted. She did not want to face the king. "What do you need me for?"
"You're the witness."
"Maybe the king won't believe me."
"You don't know John. Bring the accusation, he'll find the proof," Daffyd assured her. "The man's a complete paranoid. He's got informers planted in every noble's household. The weasel's an expert at staying alive." His fingers slipped around her wrist like a handcuff. "Come along."
She followed him with dragging steps, but with no choice. She reminded herself all the way down the stairs that Wolfe was an expert in not giving her any choice.
There were two guards posted at the bottom of the stairs. She looked across the hall and saw two more standing in the screen entrance. Paranoid, she repeated. Made sure his back was covered even when he was relaxing with the boys. Made sense to her.
Men were spread out around the hall. There was a great deal of laughing and drinking. There was a brawl going on over near the doorway. At least four men were punching, kicking, and gouging at each other. Onlookers were shouting encouragement. The king, still in his surcoat of multiple shades of green, was at the high table. He was involved in some sort of dice game with Louvrecaire and several richly dressed courtiers. Someone must have spilled wine into the hearthfire, because the hall was filled with an acrid, alcohol-laden smoke.
Daffyd put his lips to her ear and whispered confidingly, "Male bonding in its most raw, untamed form."
She almost laughed as he started to tug her forward again. The guards stopped them on the bottom
stair.
"None of the household's to be allowed downstairs," one of the soldiers told them. "Go back to bed."
"I'm Captain ap Bleddyn. Let me through."
"Go back to bed."
"Bloody hell!" Daffyd grabbed Jane by the shoulders and thrust her in front of him. "This is the woman the king's been wanting. Do you want to de
ny him his pleasure?"
Jane glared back at Daffyd venomously. He gave her his best smirk. She kicked backward, but he quickly moved his leg before she could hit his shin. He shook her a little.
"Let go of me!" she said.
Her protest seemed to convince the guard. "Right. I remember hunting for the wench." He chucked her under the chin. "Too skinny for my tastes."
"You're not the king," Daffyd snapped impatiently. "Out of my way!"
The men stepped aside.
As they neared the high table, Jane was able to make out the faces of the men hovering around the dice game. Most were total strangers to her, though if she heard some of their names, she knew she'd be able to reel off facts about them. Perhaps she should go into business as a fortune-teller, she thought.
Her sarcastic speculations were cut short when one of the men in the crowd standing around the king's chair moved, revealing the man standing behind him. It was one of the conspirators. The one in chain mail with the boar's-head device. Daffyd said his name was DeBourne. Hugh of Lilydrake was standing on the other side of the king's chair. Both of them had eyes only for the king. "Daffyd ..."
He gave her a reassuring look, then pulled her up to the table. They stopped before the center chair, where the king sat with his men crowded around him.
"Sire," Daffyd said, bending the knee, then rising quickly as the king turned his small-eyed glare on them. "Lady Jehane must speak with you."
"That's her!" DeBourne shouted, pushing to the king's side. "The one who attacked FitzWilliam!"
The king gave DeBourne a look of lazy menace. "Lady Jehane is known for her impulsiveness," he replied.
The man's lividly angry face stayed bright red. It almost glowed above the white of his tabard. He looked at her with contempt and hatred. lane looked back with a contemptuous sneer. "My liege," the man began.
John waved him off. "Let be, DeBourne. I've seen FitzWilliam. It's an amusing scratch. So the kitten has claws. She'll sheathe them for me." He turned a lascivious smile on her. "Welcome, lady."
What was this? Chivalry from the king? Well, he was a Plantagenet, she reminded herself. Perhaps he had a drop of the family charm.
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