Heroes Live Forever (Knights in Time)

by Chris Karlsen

  “Without a doubt. Please, go on.”

  "There's a time when a leader must follow his own counsel, or follow his advisors. He was wise enough to know the difference. On the battlefield he was a brave, and in general, an honorable man. Although, I'm sure exceptions could be found to his chivalrous nature.”

  "Like Limoges," she added.

  "Like Limoges. War brings out the best and worst in men, sometimes the same man. In my opinion, a knight couldn’t serve under a finer leader. The speech he made to his soldiers on the field of Poitiers was better than any playwright's fiction."

  Miranda listened, engrossed, struck by the intensity of Alex's description and how personal his knowledge sounded. Only one other person made the images and personalities of the time so colorful and three dimensional, Ian. When he discussed Crecy, and specifically Poitiers, the battles came to life. She heard the thud of a morning star landing against a shield or the whoosh of a sword as it cut the air. With a little imagination, she could picture the field of dying horses and men, the ground blood soaked and reddish black. How unique for two modern men to have such a strong attachment to a long ago time.

  "You speak as though you really knew him." Miranda wondered at the cause of the enigmatic, almost sad emotion that briefly entered his eyes.

  "This period in history is of particular interest to me. Perhaps I identify with some of the personages too much and it affects my opinions. Did you want to continue with swords or shall we go on to other weapons?" He didn't wait for her response and advanced the page.

  They spent their time leafing through page after page of arms and armor. Alex impressed her more and more as they went through each section. He grew especially enthusiastic when they came to the examples of warhorses and their decorative bridles.

  A clear picture of Alex on a strong stallion came to Miranda. Distinct enough for her to remark, "I can visualize you on a great destrier, a huge grey Percheron maybe."

  "Can you? How uncanny. I happen to have a grey Percheron and several black ones too."

  Ian had quietly entered the room. Only when Alex acknowledged him with the barest of nods did she become aware of Ian’s presence.

  Excited with the results of their search, Miranda gave Ian a dazzling smile. “Hi.”

  “You two appear to be getting along rather well. Can I hope the research also went well in my absence?”

  “Ian, you won’t believe how much we’ve gotten done. Alex has been an enormous help. He’s a fountain of information.”

  She expected him to be pleased. Instead, he looked disappointed, although she couldn’t swear to it, but he seemed a little hurt. Neither made sense to her.

  "Great," he said, with a weak smile.

  The sentiment sounded stiff and added to her confusion.

  "I have a couple of things I need to talk to him about. Afterward we can go over what you've found."

  "Belle dame, it has been my pleasure." Alex stood, kissed her hand, and they both left.

  Miranda rested her chin in her palm curious as to what was bothering Ian when Kiki came flying into the office. "Okay, out with it. What's your secret, perfume, witchcraft? Confess!"

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Don't play dumb. I'm talking about the fact you have the attention of two of the hottest men in London, and we want to know your secret."

  “If you're referring to the man who just left, that's Alex Lancaster and he's a friend of Ian's. He passed the time with me while he waited for Ian. Don't make it into something it's not. And, who is 'we' exactly?"

  "Every female in the building, that's who. Or didn't you notice the parade of women who strolled by your office?" Kiki fluttered her hand and prattled on, "I take back the question. If I had that hunk sitting next to me I wouldn't notice anything either. Since we’re on the subject of “his gorgeousness,” how's it going with Ian?"

  "It's going fine. We're not dating if that's what you want to know. I told you I wouldn't go out with him while we worked together." Miranda swiveled back to her computer. Maybe Kiki would get the hint and leave.

  She and Ian were already fodder for the office gossips. This was exactly what Miranda deplored but she had no one to blame but herself. She’d let him kiss her in front of everyone that first day. At the time, she hadn’t dreamt she’d wind up working for him. Let the rumor mills grind away. Her relationship with Ian wasn't open for discussion.

  Kiki didn't take the hint and refused to be put off. "Why are you so opposed to dating him while you're his assistant? Seriously, do you expect a man like Ian to wait around?"

  Miranda had to answer Kiki or she’d never leave the subject alone. "No, I don't expect him to hang around, I hope he will, but I don't expect it. It's just--well, I like him. I like him so much I can't see straight sometimes. But if we were to date and he wound up dumping me, I'd still have to work with him. I'd be shattered. I couldn't do it, Kiki. I couldn't have my heart broken, then work with him every day and pretend I was all right. Don't you see?"

  "No, I don't. I don’t understand why you assume he's going to dump you." Kiki’s flighty manner evaporated and she turned serious. "It's you who doesn't see. You're so afraid, you're blind to the truth. He's crazy about you. I can see it. We all can see it, everyone but you. The way he looks at you. God, I'd give up chocolate for a year to have a man like him look at me that way."

  "I know he likes me. Sometimes I think he likes me as much as you think. The thought of that frightens me as much as it excites me." She checked herself. She hadn't meant to reveal so much to Kiki, to anybody.

  "Hmmm, sounds as though you more than like him," Kiki bent close. "Take a chance Miranda, Columbus did."

  "Yeah right, easy for you to say."

  "I'm available for a double date with you and Ian, if you'd care to let Alex know." Kiki winked and left.

  Miranda sat mulling over her friend's suggestion, then dismissed it. How could she get Kiki to understand what she didn't understand herself?

  How could she explain about her visions? Visions that came unbidden, flashes and images of Ian as a knight, or in a castle courtyard with a mysterious woman. After his visit to her house, she could add graphically erotic dreams to the list. Over the past week working closely together, the images had come with increased frequency, grown more vivid, more intense. There was a woman in many. A woman whose face she never saw. Some of those imaginings were so sensual she could almost feel the heat where their skin touched, hear the carnal words, the woman’s words, his words. A premonition of him leaving sometimes accompanied a vision. The pain of the loss so tangible it invariably tempered her fantasies.

  No, she couldn't tell Kiki or anyone. They'd think her mad, and rightfully so. Hell, even she was beginning to doubt her sanity. Ian's to blame for this disturbing problem, she thought in a huff. After all, she'd never experienced fantasies like this before he came into her life. Therefore, he should shoulder some of the responsibility for her deteriorating mental state.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Ian removed his jacket and slumped into his chair, while Alex freshened his drink. Tension mingled with impatience and colored his tone as he brooded over Miranda's warm reaction to Alex.

  "I strain and fight everyday to see some sign of recognition in her eyes. Every morning I endeavor to find the key to unlock her memory. Can you tell me how it is she remembers you? How she has this feeling of having met you and not have it with me?"

  "No. I've no idea." Alex candidly replied. "I could venture a guess, but that's all it is, just a guess."

  "I'm open to any and all theories, go ahead."

  Alex hesitated and took a deep breath, "Perhaps it's because I never hurt her."

  "What do you mean?" Taken aback, Ian fought the impulse to become defensive.

  After taking a long, slow sip of his scotch Alex explained, "Well, I think it's like the lyric from The Way We Were, what's too painful to remember, we choose to forget."

  The lyric meant nothing to him
. Ian wasn’t certain he’d ever heard the song.

  "I should have known," Alex mumbled to himself. "You know the song The Way We Were?”

  Ian shook his head.

  “Barbra Streisand’s big hit," Alex added as a hint. Several seconds passed as he waited in vain for Ian to confirm he knew the song or at least nod in affirmation. Nothing.

  "Do you ever listen to music, other than when you're riding in an elevator?"

  "Yes, I listen to music. I'll have you know I've a very fine collection of CD's."

  "By fine collection do you mean the odd six or seven left at your flat by various females?"

  Indignant, Ian said, "Yes."

  "So tell me Mr. MTV. What are the names of the CD's, or perhaps you can name the artists?"

  Ian absently rolled a Pelikan fountain pen over his knuckles back and forth. His favorite pen, the one he found closest to writing with a quill. He kept a watchful eye on the instrument, never lending it.

  "You know I'm not musical."

  "Not musical? Compared to you, Attila the Hun was a song and dance man."

  Alex brought the glass to his lips and put it back down without touching the tawny liquid. "Ian, I've no idea how to help you with your predicament. I wish I did. I don't understand why you feel this urgent need to have her remember to begin with. Why can't you forget it and just court her? Take her to dinner, buy her flowers, go dancing, win her heart that way."

  Ian sat pensive and considered his answer. He’d asked himself that exact question several times. It always came back to the same thing. "Elinor loved me when all I had was my word and my honor. A man can be penniless and still be wealthy, if he is true to his word, and can keep his honor in a world of deceivers. I broke my word. I failed her. If Miranda recalls you, then there must be a way for her to remember Basil and our love. Perhaps some deep-seated part of her will know I kept my final promise."

  Alex’s crooked mocking smile said it all, half, you're having me on and half you crazy bugger. Either way, Ian got the drift Alex didn't buy the explanation. "Out with it. I've seen that look before. What's on your mind?"

  "I know honor is and always has been important to you. You've always been a man of your word. But, I think in this situation you're like a dog chasing his tail. Frankly, I suspect this has more to do with ego than you care to admit. You've done a bang up job putting a rosy spin on it, but to what end? Pride goeth before the fall, be careful my friend."

  Alex finished his drink. "I’m going to get on my way. I have a date. I'll see you ..." he slid the message slip from his pocket and peeked at the name, "and Carla tomorrow for drinks."

  "Do try and remember her name tomorrow, will you."

  "Not a problem, I'll just call her sweetling,” Alex said, checking his tie as he stood. “The ladies love it. They say it sounds romantic and old world."

  "You love this modern time, don't you?"

  "Victoria's Secret, birth control, liberated women, it's brilliant."

  They shared a laugh, lightening the mood.

  Alex turned serious. "Ian, God knows you've been around a long time. You'll think of some way to reach her. Give it time. If she never remembers, so what, maybe it's not such a bad thing."

  Ian gave a low grunt and watched as his friend headed for the door. "Alex...thanks."

  Ian stared at the closed door and contemplated what they'd discussed. Alex was wrong. How could Miranda not want to know they’re destined to be together? He evaluated several different ways to go about convincing her before a simple but shrewd plan came to him. He needed to be a stronger presence in her daily life. It would take a couple of weeks. If she subconsciously sensed the prior hurt like Alex suggested, then she had to have the good memories buried there. He just needed to unlock them. Tonight was the perfect time to start.

  He walked into Miranda's office, a man on a mission.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Miranda was standing at her desk, pictures of weapons spread in front of her. She looked up as Ian came in. "Hi, I saw Alex leave. I was about to go to your office. I've printed out the pictures and descriptions of the weapons we might use.” She started to gather the examples. “When you approve the choices I'll send copies to the production assistant to forward on to the re-enactment group."

  Ian came around to Miranda's side of the desk, never slowing his stride, a strange glint in his eye. She watched him with a mixture of wariness and excitement. With one hand he took her by the wrist as he pulled a chair over with the other.

  "Sit."

  Ian tugged her down into a chair and arranged the two of them so they were face to face. Instead of knee to knee, he placed himself so both her legs were between his. Hunched forward, his forearms rested on his thighs.

  "Show me the pictures. By the way, I don’t want a re-enactment group. Make sure the production staff is made aware. Tell them to get stunt men. I want the battle scenes to look and sound as realistic as possible. Those weekend warrior clubs won’t do."

  The examples were laid out in sub-categories so Ian compared swords to swords, daggers to daggers, armor to armor. He kept his head down, reviewing, but slowly with each stack he edged further forward until his hands were over Miranda's lap. A faint whiff of Dunhill, his after shave, drifted up. The subtle scent never overpowered her.

  She gazed down at the back of his bent head and wondered what his pillow smelled like. She bet there was the underlying odor of linen, crisp and clean, with an overlay of him, and a touch, but just a touch of Dunhill.

  What a distraction the man was. Subtly, she studied him as he sorted through the printouts, noting the way his broad shoulder muscles curved, stretching the cotton shirt when he shifted.

  She fantasized him making love to her. For the hundredth time this week, she envisioned where his arms bulged as he supported his weight and covered her body. She saw her hands slide under his biceps and up and over his wide back. Her palms would register every flex of his muscles as he moved across her body kissing, teasing, arousing. His thick hair would tickle her breasts and stomach as she ran her hand down the indentation of his spine.

  Ian sat up. Startled, she tried not to look flustered.

  "I've marked the weapons I want to use."

  He'd said something. His lips had moved and there'd been vague sound coming out. She was caught like a rat in a trap, wallowing in an X-rated daydream.

  "Sorry?"

  He stared at her hard as though he’d read her mind. "I've marked the ones we're using, take them to production and then meet me in my office and we'll go to dinner," he said after a few seconds.

  A ripple of relief ran through Miranda when he stood. Grateful her inattention hadn’t been questioned; the invitation went over her head. The thought of declining never formed.

  She stopped in the ladies room on the way back from production for a quick critical appraisal. The make-up and hair needed only a minor touch up but the dress--.

  The ivy green flattered her. Long sleeved with a mandarin collar the dress hugged her figure well and ended an inch above the knee. A modest slit over one thigh added a little sex appeal. Unfortunately, it was silk. Unlike the pristine silk Armani worn by “Jennifer Perfect,” as Miranda labeled her, this dress had serious wrinkles.

  "Why am I doing this?" She mumbled, digging through the toiletry bag she kept in her desk. He swore he wasn’t seeing other women. How can that be true when they keep calling? If she had the sense God gave a goose she’d decline the invitation and leave.

  She knew the answer. Deep down she wanted to believe he could be as attracted to her as she was to him. Miranda straightened her dress as best she could, brushed her hair and glossed her lips.

  “Let Jennifer Perfect and the rest eat cake.”

  It occurred to her quoting a woman who’d had her head chopped off wasn’t the wisest choice.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Ian sat in his office using the time to marshal his wayward thoughts. He'd had one devil of a time concentrating on
the pictures. When they sat so close with their thighs touching, he thought he'd never make it through the stacks of examples. Then, when he leaned over her lap and his hand came into contact with that sexy slit in her dress, bloody hell! The slit stopped just short of the top of her stocking. If he'd moved his fingers one inch he'd have been touching the soft skin of inner thigh.

  Miranda had driven him crazy all day in that dress. He loved the way it clung to her as she moved and the quiet rustle as it slid against her skin. When she reached for a book on one of his shelves the material drew taut outlining the shape of her bottom. For a few seconds, he considered closing the door and ravishing her. Fulfillment of that temptation would have to wait. Miranda wasn't likely to appreciate the spontaneity, yet.

  Dinner was the first step in his plan. They belonged together. He’d no intention of waiting months for her to come around, but he needed to walk a fine line. Too suave and he’d come across as a shallow playboy. He had to be charming enough to win her trust and confidence.

  There was a soft knock and Miranda peered around the door.

  “Ready?”

  "Absolutely," he replied. More than you know, he said to himself.

  His splayed fingers covered her lower back as he led them out, passing a group of co-workers. Ian paid no mind to their curious looks. He didn't care in the least about the whispers that started before they were out the exit door.

  "Where would you like to go?"

  "Well, if you're up for curry, the Rangoon Club is only a few blocks from here, near Grosvenor Square,” Miranda suggested. “We can walk.”

  ****

  As they waited to cross Oxford St. a tenor sax started to play behind them. The melody caught Ian’s attention. He turned.

  The musician stood at the entry of the Marble Arch underground. He played without sheet music, black case open on the sidewalk. Without letting go of Miranda’s hand, Ian went over to the busker.