“Would you have married a woman if she carried another man’s child?”
Guy shook his head. “No. That I could not do. I had a title, lands, my heir needed to be mine and mine alone.”
“Of course.” Elinor was silent for a moment. “I’m not a virgin,” she confessed in a quiet voice. “When I was younger, I slept with two men because I thought they’d like me more. I never saw either again. Afterward I swore I’d never sleep with anyone for that reason again. There’s been one other since.”
“You’re not a wanton.”
“It’s difficult to know the right path.”
“Don’t change because others around you are or taunt you because your ethics are higher.”
“You know what happened, don’t you? If you know, Basil knows.” Mortified, she wanted to bury her head under a pillow and be alone in her embarrassment. She’d fought the tears, trying not to break down in front of him. Losing the battle, they streamed down her cheeks.
“So, you have known the occasional man.” He shrugged. “Let me tell you what Basil and I and all men know. No man wants to sit in a crowded room and wonder how many other men know what only he should about his lady.”
“I understand. I don’t mean to cry.”
“Shh, you’re being silly. It’s just the two of us. Cry if you need to.”
“I can’t help it. I keep thinking about that Beatles song, Eleanor Rigby. The words keep repeating in my head...lyrics about a woman who no one loves and who dies alone. Only the priest comes to her funeral. I’m afraid I’m going to wind up like that.”
Guy put his finger under her chin until she tipped her head up. He dabbed at her eyes with the towel. “I don’t know the song, but its dark with mean words. I have no idea why the...” he waved his hand in the air. “The bug group would sing such a hurtful tune. I do know that terrible fate would never happen to you. I’m six hundred years old and know a thing or two. You are not this tragic Eleanor Rigby. You are the delightful and lovely Elinor Hawthorne.”
His sweet reassurance made her smile. “Thank you for making me feel better.”
“Are you okay to sleep?”
She nodded.
“I’ll go then.” He rose and went to the door. “Stay as you are.” Guy disappeared.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The next morning Elinor called in sick when she wasn’t. Something she’d never done before. Guy's talk had brought her spirits up, but she awoke upset, still feeling soiled. Was he right? Was her lack of wantonness, as he charmingly put it, something to be treasured by a man? Or, were Lucy and Jeremy right? Was she a walking anachronism destined to be alone? Would Elinor Hawthorne become Eleanor Rigby?
Lyrics from the song tortured her as she dressed and went into the kitchen. Elinor wished she hadn't remembered it. She wished the Beatles hadn't written it. Stupid song, stupid Beatles.
After downing a couple of cups of coffee, she decided to take Guardian out for a pleasant ride. The distraction might help banish the specter of the song from her mind.
She'd yet to ride him across the nearby road. Only one narrow lane ran in each direction, but the country byway was heavily traveled as it connected to the main carriageway into King's Lynn. Guardian hadn't been ridden near traffic. The possibility he might spook worried her.
There was one house between hers and the roundabout. Elinor didn't know the family who lived there. Since moving in, she'd often seen the lady tending her flower beds. A variety of rosebushes, tea, floribunda, heirlooms and others she couldn’t name lined the fence surrounding the woman's garden. Their tops spilled over the picket points. Elinor glanced over as she rode by and hoped the shrubs in her favorite colors hadn’t been mysteriously stripped bare.
She stopped short of the road and waited for the opportunity to cross. So far, Guardian seemed unperturbed by the cars and the noise. She'd just eased him forward when a large truck came down the rise to her right. The noise from the heavy vehicle’s diesel engine was twice as loud as that of regular traffic. The skittish thoroughbred tossed his head back, crow-hopped, and spun. Startled, Elinor tightened hard on the reins, harder than necessary, until he halted. Once she was sure he’d sufficiently calmed, she trotted without trouble across the road.
She rode for a couple of hours in the peaceful woods when dark clouds filled the sky and thunder rumbled in the distance. Elinor didn't want another incident with the excitable gelding. She turned Guardian towards the house, taking a different path, one farther away from the blind rise in the road.
Elinor entered the grassy field behind her house as the thunder of the fast-moving storm grew nearer. She spurred Guardian into a canter, trying to beat the rain. Behind her, a gunshot loud backfire from a truck sounded. Guardian bolted, breaking into a full gallop. His neck stretched further forward with each stride as the reins slid through her gloves. Elinor clamped down onto his barrel with her legs. She tried to maintain a balanced seat against his powerful gallop over the uneven terrain. She grasped his mane with one hand and held on hard until she managed to gain control of the reins. Elinor yanked with all her might. Guardian refused to slow and flung his head around rebelling at the taut bit.
Elinor desperately fought the sweeping panic at the sight of her pasture fence coming closer and closer. Guardian was never trained as a jumper. She worried he’d either run into it, injuring both of them, or try to jump the rail. If he leaped the fence, she'd never stay astride. Her riding skills weren't that good.
"Pull steady but firmly on the right rein, bring it all the way back to your hip." Basil rode next to her on Saladin, keeping pace with Guardian. Elinor acknowledged Basil's instruction with a stiff nod, afraid to turn her head. She screamed as her foot bounced out of one stirrup. The girth slipped and the saddle canted at an unnatural angle with the shift in weight. Only the strength of her legs kept her from being thrown, while the loose stirrup banged hard against her boot.
"Straighten and pull harder on the right rein. Force him to turn. Do it now!"
Basil's command shook her from her panic. Elinor struggled and righted herself, and drew back as instructed. With a steady and strong hold, she kept her hand on her hip. Guardian's head came around, and he slowed. She maintained the steady pressure until his front feet finally stilled, and his rear flank circled around.
She sucked in new air with great gasps as Guardian snorted, his sides heaving. When they both caught their breath, Elinor headed for the house. Her grip relaxed and his head dropped and bobbed as he walked.
Basil guided Saladin closer. The great warhorse held his head high, flicked his ears and pranced like the jaunt had been enormous fun. "Always remember, if you use a steady pull on one rein, he has to turn. He'll do it to relieve the pressure of the bit. He has to slow down to accomplish the maneuver."
Elinor nodded and stared straight ahead.
"Elinor, look at me. Are you okay?"
She shook her head. "I'm so ashamed. I screamed like an idiot. My old riding instructor would disavow any knowledge of me."
"So, you screamed. We've all been scared at one time or another. You just have to learn not to let fear get the better of you." Basil leaned over. "Once in France, Guy woke up, saw his bedmate in the morning light and yelped like a pup."
Elinor laughed. "Thank you." She smiled at Basil. "I don’t know what would've happened if you hadn't come along."
"But I did. I always will."
“Will you?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
They rode along at a relaxed pace now. In spite of the impending storm, Basil suggested they ride a little longer.
“Guardian should not associate bad behavior with the reward of going home.” He told her. Elinor remained shaken but agreed because Basil was near.
A question had nagged at her since the first night, a sixth sense that Basil hid some deep, troubling issue about Poitiers.
“Will you tell me about Poitiers?”
He continued to face straight ahead without answeri
ng.
“It’s not my intention to pry. If the topic upsets you, we can talk about something else.” She wished now she’d kept her mouth shut.
“Don’t regret your curiosity. It’s natural.”
Basil was silent for a long moment as if remembering the painful details.
“We formed up and watched as the French numbers grew, aware of how desperately out-manned we were. The situation left little choice but to wait for them to attack. A tremendous stillness settled upon us as we made ready, an eerie quiet, no one really wanted to talk.
“First there is always the time of fear and anticipation. Then, there’s the reconciliation as each man makes his peace with God. That is when the quiet sets in and the waiting begins, which is the worst part. It’s the tension only a man in war knows.”
He spoke in a curiously even tone like a radio story teller reading Shakespeare.
“The prince rode to the front of our lines to speak encouragement to the men. He addressed them not as a prince but as an Englishman who’d share the field with them. He told them to let their voices ring out for England. No man felt left out. Even the chests of the Welsh bowmen puffed up with pride.”
His regard and loyalty to the prince spoke volumes to Elinor. She made mental note to pay more attention to Edward in her class lectures.
Basil’s chin notched up with a defiant air. “Aye, the French couldn’t miss our voices that day. You’ve heard of a warrior’s battle cry? Some say it’s to scare the enemy, which is true. But I think it’s also the release a man’s soul needs in order to fight.
“Most of the French knights could be seen dismounting and moving their horses to the rear. The best of their cavalry remained mounted and intended to charge our line of longbowmen. A great cry rang from their side and the attack came swiftly.
Our archers showered them with a constant hail of arrows. Their horses reared in terror, stampeding back through their lines in confusion. The noise was beyond imagination.”
His voice was no longer so restrained. Elinor listened and watched him with intense interest. His gaze grew distant. It wasn’t the Norfolk horizon he fixed on, but France, as the tableau played out again for him as raw and vivid as the day it occurred.
“How many hundreds of years must pass for the spectacle to dim an iota? Will I ever not remember the air smelling thick with blood and fear, the putrid stench of eviscerated horses and men? The stink of death.”
The question wasn’t meant for her. It wasn’t even meant to be answered. She sensed he’d forgotten her presence. “Basil?”
Without acknowledging, he went on, “We charged. The struggle had turned into a blood bath. With their sheer numbers they managed to overrun our lines. The French knights on foot slashed at our horses as we came over the hedge. Saladin went down. I couldn’t dismount in time and was caught underneath him. My thigh bone snapped.” Basil paused. “My cause was lost,” he said, the flat narrator voice again. “I knew it. I could see Guy fighting to reach me. I tried to wave him off, to leave me, to go. He couldn’t see in the bloody chaos.”
Basil stopped with his back to her and for a second, his shoulders sagged. The pain of what he felt had shown through the image he manifested. An accidental reveal she doubted he intended.
He quickly straightened. “Guy was surrounded, overwhelmed. They dragged him off Thor while a half dozen blades rained down on him. It was almost the last thing I saw.”
Elinor remembered seeing how extensive the vicious scars on Guy’s arms were when he wore the tee shirt. Her heart broke for him, broke for both of them.
Basil halted Saladin, the corner of his mouth tipped up in a sardonic mock smile as he turned to her. “So, I guess you’re wondering how we ended up like this, yes?”
A flood of emotions ran through her, regret, sympathy, and shame she asked him to tell her about that day. Still, she was curious.
“Don’t fret so. I’m fine. It seems it wasn’t Guy’s destiny to die that day. In his effort to save me, he died before his time. As a result, his fate became entwined with mine.”
“You can’t blame yourself. If the situation had been reversed, you’d have tried to save Guy.”
A small twitch in his cheek was the only evidence of the guilt he held close. “But it wasn’t the reverse, was it?
No words of consolation would ease his tormented soul and Elinor agonized for him. “What about you? Why...?” She struggled for a suitable description. “Why aren’t you at peace?”
“I don’t know.”
He gestured with his hands either in supplication or resignation. Perhaps both. In the unguarded moment, the veil fell away from his rugged face, revealing a half-millennium of blame and sorrow. The weary face of a man who battles a war he cannot win.
“How can you not know? What about Guy? You know about his fate. Who told you that, God, or St. Peter or some archangel?”
“No one so lofty or grand.” He laughed a little at the notion. “I have no idea what his title was or is, guide, messenger, squire to an angel. It seemed the mission was to inform me about Guy only.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” she insisted and stared in disbelief at the incredible statement. “Surely a day doesn’t go by that you don’t wonder or ask why?”
“I stopped asking why four hundred years ago,” he said wryly. “Oh, I demanded answers for awhile. Was I not brave enough, honorable enough, generous enough? What failure of mine caused my banishment?” He pressed his lips together at the bitter recollection and repeated the answer. “It’s something I must learn for myself, I was told.”
Words tuck in her throat. She was helpless as to what to do or say.
“I’m all right, Elinor, truly I am.” His straight face made the lie appear convincing.
After they rode in silence for a few minutes, Basil nudged Saladin closer. “So, what other questions do you have for me?”
The casual remark ended the tension. Relieved, she racked her brain for a light-hearted question. “I was thinking, you’ve seen enormous changes in the world. Is there anything you dislike about the twentieth century?”
He pursed his lips as he considered an answer. “Yes, the noise. Your world is terribly noisy.”
Who’d have dreamed he’d find something as mundane as noise objectionable. She’d expected a more global response.
“Basil, we live in the country. It’s very quiet here.”
His brows lifted a fraction in challenge to her statement. “On the contrary, it’s still noisy, even out here. In my time, if a man sought solitude, he merely rode a small distance from the castle. The only noise was the occasional sound from the wood. Now, no matter where you go, there’s noise. Noise from the sky, noise from the road, radios, televisions, it’s constant. You’re so used to it, you don’t notice.”
Elinor nodded. “Perhaps. On the flip side, what do you like the most about these times?”
He answered without hesitation, grinning wickedly. “Short skirts.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
It had been an emotional day for Basil, between Elinor’s frightening ride, his retelling of Poitiers and the ghostly circumstance he and Guy found themselves. Now everything was calm and quiet. This was Basil’s favorite time of night. He liked to walk Saladin around Ashenwyck in the moonlight and pretend his home looked as it did in his lifetime.
Tonight a bracing wind blew through the ruins, but it paled compared to the tempest that swirled within him and the moral dilemma Elinor presented. Never in his mortal life had he faced such a difficult problem. How easy it had all been then. Certain of what course to take, his decisions were swift. Emotions hadn't colored his actions. But, he'd never been in love when he was alive. He debated if everyone found love so disconcerting or just him.
How different might his life have turned out if Elinor had been around then and they'd married? Would he have had a son, an heir, a hearty little boy with his dark hair and her green eyes?
A car on the road honked, bringing
his attention back to the issue. Was his coming to her at night unethical? Perhaps. Was it immoral? No, he told himself, because he loved her. Was it dishonorable? Basil acknowledged it wasn't sterling behavior for a knight, but not comparable to the butcher who was truly dishonorable. The memory of Elinor trapped against the wall flared again. “I’ve not forgotten about you and what you did to my Elinor.”
In the distance, the upstairs light came on, and her shadow passed by the window. Basil rode toward the house.
Every night since the dream, Elinor listened to the tape. Tonight was no different.
Basil lay next to her and removed the headset. She didn't wake, only rolled over onto her side toward him. He contemplated what to do. The idea she returned his love, even if it was limited to her dreams enchanted him. All the emotions he shunned in life and thought impossible in death converged to shred his self control. He bent his lips to her ear, his whispered seduction brought life to secret wishes.
Elinor dreamed.
Flames licked and lapped the inside of the huge fireplace and cast a honeyed glow over the banqueting hall.
Basil stood motionless, elegant in a cobalt blue velvet tunic. A scroll design was embroidered in bronze silk along the hem and repeated on his tunic’s high collar.
Three long strides brought them together. Powerful arms surrounded her. Crushed to him, the heat from his body and the hearth enveloped her. Wisps of his hair tickled her nose and upper lip as he lowered his head to kiss her.
She returned his kiss with a fervent one of her own, aware of nothing but him. Only when she ran out of air did she pull away. Elinor smoothed his hair from his cheeks and temples while she caught her breath. The glimmer of the torchlight softened his features and gave him a provocative and playful air. She stroked his forehead in faint little caresses with her thumbs down his temples then leaned forward so they were nose to nose.
Heroes Live Forever (Knights in Time) Page 11
