A silver-framed photo of Elinor and her grandmother sat on the dresser. He touched a finger to Theresa’s image, remembering the day the picture was taken. He missed the old woman.
Elinor’s lips parted with a muffled sigh as she rolled over. Guy stood by the side of the bed as she slept. “Were this another time and place, I’d have given the lady a much better reason to rest contented other than decorating.”
“Were this another time and place, do you think I wouldn’t have vied for the lady’s attention also?”
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”
As Guy amused himself with the clock radio, Basil watched his childhood friend. Always sought after, Guy was adored by all the women, young and old, both the highborn and the servants.
The ladies were mad for him. When they spoke to Basil about Guy, women claimed he was special. “He makes you feel like you’re the only woman in the world.” The declaration was consistently followed by a dreamy sigh and a nauseating, besotted gaze. Basil always wondered how he was supposed to respond. The temptation to tell them how long it took Guy to perfect that look hovered on the tip of his tongue.
Their feelings were reciprocated. His friend liked all women and charmed them equally. At banquets, he’d dance with the plain ones as often as he danced with the fair ones. Hearts melted when he entered the hall.
For reasons Basil never grasped, Guy enjoyed talking to women about all and sundry subjects. They’d discussed this on occasion. Basil recalled his skepticism. “Engaging women in non-frivolous conversation is silly,” he argued. “If it doesn’t lead to tupping, what’s the point?”
He turned his attention to Elinor and pictured the women he knew, comparing them to the woman asleep before him. She wasn’t an incredible beauty like some. But she had a classic elegance to her. A knight would be proud to carry your favor, milady. In another age, I’d have made certain it was me who garnered that token.
Chapter Eight
Sunlight poured through the bedroom's leaded window waking Elinor. The events of the previous night came back. She sat up, and scanned the room. No knights. It was only a dream. What did she expect? The realization disheartened her.
She slid out of bed and padded barefoot into the bathroom and paused, hand on the doorknob. “What if it wasn't a dream? What if, by some strange miracle it's true and they come back and I'm in the shower?” They could watch and she’d never know. Elinor shook her head at the bizarre scenario she pictured. If, and it's a big if, they were real, why spy on her when they could spy on a gorgeous movie star? The situation was too ludicrous to even think about. She didn’t bother to close the door.
Elinor dressed, trudged downstairs, and made a pot of coffee. The pungent smell filled the kitchen as it percolated. Brochures for pre-fab stables sat on the counter unread while visions of the knights invaded her thoughts. Silly as it was, she wished they were real.
Unable to concentrate, she grabbed a mug of coffee, the brochures, and headed for the woods. A damp mist still clung to the ground, cloaking her house and the trees. Here, on the far side of the Fens, it would be another hour before the vaporous haze burned off.
She made herself comfortable at the base of an ash tree and watched a squirrel scamper at the edge of a nearby stream, one of the many mini tributaries of the Nene that riddled the area. The squirrel made several trips to the water and back up a tree on the opposite bank. “Do you have a nest of babies up there, little one?” She’d remember to bring nuts next time.
Elinor sorted through the brochures and read the more practical ones. She leaned back, sipped the coffee and mentally measured the area needed for Guardian, her thoroughbred. Knees up, mug in hand, she sat lost in thought.
"Your stable should be made of stone."
Elinor jumped, sloshing coffee everywhere.
Basil jerked backwards, "Milady!"
"Basil, are you crazy? You nearly scared me to death!" She held a hand to her chest waiting for her heart to slow.
"Sorry," the apology choked out over his laughter.
“You are real,” She said and stared at him wide eyed. “When I didn’t see you this morning, I...well; I assumed I’d dreamt you.”
“I was often told ladies dreamed of me,” Basil teased.
Guy plopped down on the other side of her. "Jumpy?"
The aside earned him a stern look. "No, not usually. But I don't have much experience with spooks sneaking up on me. You could've called out first."
“Duly noted, milady. As to being the object of ladies dreams, my list of sleeping beauties is legion.” Guy sniffed and bent forward, challenging Basil to comment.
Basil made a rude retort and the witty insults and jibes continued until Elinor finally raised a hand. "Stop. Big, brave knights and you two carry on like a couple of my school girls."
"What have school girls to do with you?" Guy asked.
"I'm a history teacher at Stoneleigh, a private academy for girls in Ely." With immense pride Elinor mentioned the school by name whenever possible. Often referred to as Eton for girls, it was well known throughout England. The median age of a staff member was forty-five and only candidates with impeccable backgrounds were chosen. Elinor had been accepted upon her graduation from Cambridge, a major accomplishment for such a young woman. Her parents were thrilled.
With co-workers, Elinor exercised absolute discretion. Never were her personal beliefs regarding the paranormal discussed. It would be tantamount to career suicide. The administration would take a dim view of any instructor who admitted to the possible existence of ghosts. They'd be labeled "unsound" or worse, for such whimsy.
"Define girl, what age are these girls?" Guy's eyes sparkled with a depraved twinkle.
"They're seventeen and eighteen. Why?"
"Seventeen," he scoffed. "In my time, many young ladies that age were already married with a babe. I should like to see your girls one day. I imagine they’re quite lovely.”
“Leave my students alone, understand?" Elinor warned in a firm voice. "You're what, six hundred plus years old, way beyond the May-December parameters."
"Aye, but I'm young in spirit," Guy countered with a wink and leaned back on an elbow.
"You're a womanizing rascal."
He lay down, arms behind his head. "Yes, but a handsome one. Do you not think so?"
While she and Guy discussed his lascivious nature, Basil edged closer. They nearly bumped noses when Elinor turned his way. At this proximity Basil's eyes weren't so black but flecked with deep brown. His lashes were short but thick and added a scholarly element to his damaged nose.
Awareness of him as a man flared. "Ummm..." Elinor giggled when she looked Basil in the eye. She twisted away, took a deep breath, composed herself and faced him. "You refer to me as milady. Am I supposed to say my liege since I'm on your land?"
"You may call me Basil. And one day, I will tell you how I'd like you to whisper it," he traced her lips stopping at the vee, his finger suspended in place.
Elinor didn't know how to take his provocative suggestion. He said it with such ease she wasn't sure if he was seriously flirting with her. Everywhere his finger touched, an erotic tingle formed. It muddled her thoughts and made coherent speech difficult. "Yes, one day you should," came out. Good God! I'm going mad. He’s a ghost.
A bolder woman would be intrigued by the idea. A worldlier woman would dazzle him with a glib retort. Coward that she was, she gathered her things and started to leave, mumbling about more boxes to unpack. She didn’t get far. A pair of warhorses stood in her path. "You have horses with you?"
Guy approached one of the immense stallions. "Yes, our favorite mounts." He swung into the saddle of a majestic Percheron, with a steel grey coat and pure white mane and tail. The destrier's coat glistened as though brushed that morning.
"What's his name?" Elinor asked.
"Thor." Guy stroked the animal’s neck affectionately.
"The name suits him, and he matches the grey in your banner."
"You're one of the few people who've noticed."
Basil mounted his horse as big as Thor. Completely black, the absence of any light markings gave the stallion a fierce appearance. He might’ve leapt from the pages of a mythology book. He only needed to sprout wings to complete the picture. Man and horse made an impressive combination.
"What's his name?" Elinor asked.
Basil adjusted himself in the saddle. Sitting arrow straight, he looked every bit the warlord. "Saladin."
"You named him after the Infidel?" She asked with skepticism. "Didn't your ancestors fight in the Crusades?"
Pride tinged his voice. "The Sultan Saladin was a brave and fearsome warrior. This Saladin was also. He served me well, even unto his death."
"Well said. He's magnificent."
"Thank you."
Elinor left for the house. In the kitchen, she poured another cup of coffee and went into the drawing room. She was going through her record albums when Guy came up behind her.
"Elinor."
Her hand flew up to her chest, again. "You have to stop doing that!"
"What?"
"Sneaking up on me," she snapped in a raised voice, more in frustration than irritation.
"I was not sneaking, Lady Elinor," he said, sounding insulted. "I called out as you wished. What would you have me do? Do you desire me to rattle chains?"
"No, please forget the comment. I'm sorry I brought it up yesterday. I need some time to get used to all of this."
Guy smiled. At ease again, he hovered next to her. He pressed closer as she returned to the albums. "Would you show me how this machine works?"
"I'd be delighted."
Once he’d memorized all the parts, Guy crowded Elinor aside as he experimented with all the knobs.
"Since you appear to have a handle on how the stereo works, I'll leave you to it,” she said. “I need to tend to some book boxes in the library."
He gave her a low grunt in response.
Basil joined her, and they reminisced about her grandmother as she unpacked.
“Did you know she loved sardine sandwiches and ate the kind with their little heads attached?” Elinor asked, grimacing.
Basil nodded and told her Theresa talked to her plants on a regular basis and cheated at cards.
He went on to discuss the manor and the castle. Not surprisingly, he was a fountain of information about the history of both. “I hesitate to tell you this, but there was once a fine library at Ashenwyck. My family possessed several manuscripts of Welsh Bardic Poetry from the seventh century along with some illuminated bibles.”
“Really?” The teacher in Elinor salivated at the revelation. “Where are the books now?”
“Gone. Cromwell and his men burned them.”
“Bastards!” Elinor wanted to wail at the loss.
Basil looked a little sheepish. “I can’t cast too many stones. I burned a library or two in France trying to keep warm.” He went on; his accounts were filled with humorous anecdotes, along with tragic events. The fascinating details wove a tapestry of violence and grandeur, nobility and ignominy. A master storyteller, she was captivated.
When she finished unpacking, Elinor inspected the room with a critical feminine eye. "Plants. The room needs plants to add color. What do you think?"
His brows came together, relaxed, and then knit together again. "What kind of plants?"
"My first choice is a Dwarf Areca Palm. They can be used in decorative ceramic pots." His expression turned blank and he didn't speak for several long seconds. If he'd been a robot she'd assume his battery went dead.
"In the past, I heard talk of a strange plant called a palm that grows on some islands in the Hebrides. I never put much stock in the stories. Palm trees, selkies, faeries, I believe it to be a lot of Scottish balderdash and superstition."
"I see." Elinor wasn’t fooled by the diversion of the Scottish slur. "You don't know what a palm is, do you?" she asked, cocking a brow.
"I said I didn't put much stock in their existence. Shall we move on, what's your second choice?"
It was a temptation to ask him to describe a palm and she almost did. From the look on his face he anticipated she would. He watched her like a patient cat watches a noisy bird. Elinor decided not to pursue the palm question. "A lush fern, in a beautiful oriental jardinière."
"Go with the ferns."
"Ferns it is. Well, I'm off." Elinor breezed passed him.
"Where are you dashing off to?"
"To the village to buy some plants. Why?"
"I'd like to accompany you."
Elinor froze. As much as she'd like for him to come along, if he stayed materialized it could prove disastrous. How would she explain the presence of a medieval knight walking next to her? "People will see you." If there was a note of panic in her voice she didn't care.
"Can you only bear my presence within these walls? If so, I prefer your honesty.” Basil straightened and folded his arms.
Dismayed he'd misinterpreted her reasons, Elinor reached out to touch him. When her fingers began to tingle, she lowered her hand.
"Basil, I'd be proud to be seen anywhere with you. My concern has nothing to do with being in your company. The way you’re dressed, I'm afraid people will think you're an actor. It'd be worse if you wore a sword or surcoat. If they tried to touch your clothes or your body, I might not be able to stop them."
"I'll change into more appropriate attire. You needn't fear. I have experience with mortals and know how to avoid their curious fingers."
"Okay. If you're sure it won't be a problem, let's go." Elinor started towards the door, stopped and turned around. Better to check what he deemed more appropriate attire.
He stood within arm’s reach. His hair no longer hung loose, but was drawn back into a ponytail. The tunic was gone. In its place he wore black thigh-hugging breeches tucked into tall riding boots and a silky white shirt with the collar open just enough to show a tuft of dark hair.
Now, he looked like Mr. Darcy after a booster shot of testosterone. She sighed. “No, no way you’re walking around like a Jane Austen character either. Jeans and a casual shirt are a good choice. And no boots...especially those Lord of the Manor kind.”
She should’ve specified, “Loose, relax fit jeans,” not best tight butt fitting jeans on the planet. He changed the shirt from silky white to a classic, white cotton dress shirt. He kept the collar unbuttoned exposing the scar at the base of his throat. His lack of self-consciousness didn’t surprise her. She assumed he accepted the wound mark came with the image he manifested. She also knew, no woman in the village would notice the scar considering how fine he looked everywhere else.
Basil tipped his head inquisitively.
"Ahh...sorry, did you say something?" Elinor stammered.
The corners of his mouth twitched, "Do I meet with your approval?"
A hot blush seared its way to her hairline. He’d caught her gaping like a teenager. Nor did he fool her for a minute. The stinker knew exactly how good he looked.
"Oh, yeah, you'll do."
Guy glanced up as they walked through the drawing room. "Where are you going?"
Basil flicked his hand, prompting Elinor forward and out the door. "Do not worry," he said. The little hairs on the back of her neck tickled as he stepped close and urged her on again. "Continue your fiddle with the machine and we'll return soon."
Elinor scowled at him for acting so churlish and refused to budge. "To the village. Do you want to come?"
Behind her Basil groaned with exaggerated impatience.
Guy said he'd love to go, and shut off the stereo. Elinor stayed him as he headed towards the door. "You can't go dressed like that. You'll need to change too.
His appearance altered into an outfit similar to Basil's first one. Guy had chosen buff-colored breeches and a white, loose shirt, also open at the collar. Chocolate brown boots hugged his legs.
“No. You are not going like that. I told him no,” she nodded
toward Basil, “and I’m telling you no. Wear jeans and a tee shirt or something casual, really casual.”
He did as she asked.
“Oh, dear god,” Elinor said, looking him over. He’d switched to black jeans and a black tee shirt that hugged his broad chest and biceps. The tee shirt had a large red mouth with the tongue sticking out emblazoned across the front. It was the iconic Rolling Stones logo.
She picked up the last album cover Guy had handled. There, on the back, was Mick Jagger in the same shirt and jeans. Thank God, at least it wasn’t a Kiss album.
Guy smiled and asked, “What do you think?”
“I think you two are going to be a big problem in town.”
Chapter Nine
Basil hurried to the car and sat in the front passenger seat. All the gauges intrigued him. There were quite a few more than the last time he’d ridden in a car.
“We rode with your grandmother in her vehicle, twice.” He said to Elinor as she backed out of the drive and onto the road.
“What did you think?”
“I wasn’t overly impressed. Saladin, on his worst day could gallop faster.” Elinor immediately stepped on the gas as he suspected she would. The scenery streaked by and Basil smiled to himself.
Elinor found a parking space near the High Street shops. Basil and Guy exited the car after she did.
“Oh, jeez.” Elinor furtively glanced around.
Puzzled, Basil asked, “What are you watching for?”
“I’m making sure no one saw you get out without opening the doors, apparently no one did,” she said, looking relieved.
As soon as they reached the sidewalk, she grew agitated again. “Every female who isn’t an old-age pensioner is gawking at you two.” She aimed an accusatory glare at Basil. As he was about to defend himself a pretty brunette in tight jeans stared heatedly at Guy as she passed by. Elinor’s tense gaze shifted from girl to Guy to Basil. “If she stares any harder he’s going to catch fire.” Guy returned the girl's stare with a scorching one of his own.
Heroes Live Forever (Knights in Time) Page 4
