Heroes Live Forever (Knights in Time)

by Chris Karlsen

  “He’s often here during the week,” Miranda said and smiled up at Ian.

  “What’s the song?”

  “Space Oddity, the old David Bowie tune.”

  Ian listened and let the music take him back to a day when he and Guy had been unmerciful to Elinor during a game of Castle Risk. They’d trounced her in record time. This was a favorite song of hers. She’d put the album on the stereo towards the end of the game. This song had just started when she stomped off.

  Ian threw a pound coin in the sax player’s instrument case.

  “Play it again, will you?”

  The busker nodded and replayed the haunting melody. When he finished, Ian thanked him and they walked back to the corner.

  “Do you like that song?”

  Miranda shrugged. “It’s all right. Sad. I don’t listen to Bowie much.”

  That wasn’t the answer Ian hoped to hear.

  At dinner he wanted to know about her life, her childhood, every detail of her twenty-five years. Miranda spoke about her family and how she came to be fascinated with history. Ian danced around direct questions regarding his family and background. He kept his answers vague while still satisfying her questions. If she thought his responses superficial she didn't indicate it. They lingered over drinks until she mentioned catching the last train to Norfolk.

  The evening had been so much more than Miranda expected. That was a lie. She expected it to be wonderful, and it was beyond wonderful. She loved the way Ian touched her often with small intimate gestures. A thumb that circled the inside of her wrist, or the way his fingers slid the length of hers, up and down and in between. She concluded Ian’s touch on any part of her anatomy would feel erotic.

  She was reconsidering her office romance policy. What sort of impression would abandoning her ethical stance after one evening out give him of her? Did it show a complete lack of conviction to her personal standards? That’s the type of woman he’s probably used to dating. He had to see she was different. But, she really did want to make an exception to her rule. Coward that she was, she thought it best to let him make the overture. On the rethink, since she’d been so adamant about her policy, he might not make a move. Maybe he wanted a sign from her first. It was a conundrum of her own making.

  They took their time walking to his car and reached it all too soon for Miranda, who still mentally vacillated.

  "I had a lovely time. I wish..." her words trailed off. "Never mind, it's not important. If you don't mind could you drop me at King's Cross Station?"

  She cursed her loss of nerve. Then, in a defensive internal about face, she justified chickening out. She told herself the original plan was for the best.

  Could she get more schizophrenic?

  "I'll drive you home."

  Ian wrapped his arms around her, the protest she was about to make silenced with a kiss. The kiss stole Miranda's breath and thought away. She almost forgot what she intended to say. He lifted his lips from hers; still keeping the embrace tight.

  "It's too far, you--" he stopped the rest of her words with another kiss, deeper than the one before. Ian changed positions, each new slant brought a tantalizing difference to the kiss. Every new probe offered the invitation to be returned and Miranda wouldn't decline.

  Just one more, then she’d stop him. Just one more.

  He locked her body to his. She held hard to his neck and shoulders, wanting more intimacy than the embrace allowed.

  Ian's hand slid lower. Strong fingers urged Miranda’s hips forward. Iron thighs pressed against her softer ones. The thin barrier of clothing between them a poor shield as his erection pushed against her. Her hips ground in unison with his.

  Never breaking contact, Ian walked Miranda backward. The cold cement wall of the garage chilled her shoulders as Ian's hot hand skimmed up her thigh. His calloused palm caught on her stocking as his thumb circled an erotic pattern on her flesh.

  She slipped her shoe off to hook a stockinged foot over the back of his leg. When he broke their kiss off, a breathy Miranda didn't let the opportunity pass. She kissed his neck, his chin, his throat.

  His hand moved further up and a small shudder traveled through her as he glided over the sensitive hip bone. Ian cupped a buttock, while another firm hand held her in the position of his choice.

  The shrill sound of a car alarm invaded their privacy and jarred them out of the moment. Ian froze. His hands stilled and he glanced in the direction of the offensive noise. He turned back, a look of disgust on his face.

  She’d acted like all the other women, crawling all over him in a public garage. Slutty. Everything lovely about the evening was lost, sullied.

  Ian withdrew his hand from under her skirt, straightening it as he pulled away. Cool air blanketed the area left empty of his body heat.

  Sudden and strong, a weird premonition filled her thoughts, a sense of devastating loss and emptiness. Was the apprehension related to her visions and Ian, or a result of mortification? She didn’t know. The experience troubled her as much as the sad feelings brought on by it. Until now, she’d pigeon-holed the existence of premonitions as nonsense along with gut instinct and intuition. But, she couldn’t deny the power of the visceral warning.

  She remained motionless, trying to sort out what to do, what it all meant. Of course, now Ian probably figured she was a tramp, so why should she be concerned about the rest? At least the car alarm shut off.

  "Come, I’ll drive you home." He slipped an arm around her waist, drawing her from the wall while she put the shoe back on.

  Finished, she tried to step out of his encircling arm. She wanted distance, a safe zone to regroup and gather the scraps of her pride. Embarrassed by her conduct and how cheap he obviously thought of her behavior, Miranda struggled with him to no avail.

  "Please, let go of me. Just take me to the train. I can make my own way." She snapped and glanced away before he could see her distress.

  He tugged harder. She inched closer. He touched his lips to her hair, even as she refused to make eye contact.

  A long silence passed with Miranda not moving a muscle.

  "My car is parked at the Downham Market Station,” she said at last. “You can't take me home. I've no way of getting to the train tomorrow."

  "I'll pick you up in the morning. Don't bother to argue. It's not open for discussion." His firm hand on her back urged her forward.

  “We’re not at the office, Ian. Don’t order me around. I’m not one of your whip crème headed mistresses who you tell the earth is flat and they nod in agreement.”

  “Fine. Then, don’t treat me like a bounder who’d dump you off at the train with no thought for your safety.”

  She noticed him wince when her hand brushed his groin as she climbed in the sports car.

  Ian slid into the driver’s side and started the engine. He shifted into gear and gunned it, chirping the tires as he exited the garage.

  "What's wrong, you act like you're in pain?"

  "Nothing, except my testicles feel like they’re attached to an anvil."

  Miranda couldn't resist an unladylike snort. "I hope you're not looking for sympathy from me."

  "No, darling. I've been around enough women to know that would be foolish."

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Miranda was determined not to repeat her mistake. All week Ian continued to ask her to dinner. She politely refused, which wasn’t easy. She’d like nothing better than to see him outside the office atmosphere. He never pushed the issue, but he didn’t hide his disappointment either. Her determination weakened with every refusal and the desire to throw caution to the wind grew.

  She discussed the pros and cons with her childhood friend, Shakira. The approach worked well with her. Shakira was a successful attorney. The pros and cons of a sticky situation was her strong suit.

  Shakira said, “Personally, I refrain from dating anyone here at the firm. But, it’s an easy choice for me. None of these peacocks in pinstripes appeal to me.”


  Her final warning to Miranda helped, maybe.

  “At the end of the day, don’t wind-up with regrets because you didn’t go after him out of fear.”

  She thought about that. If she agreed to date Ian, the circumstances had to be right. No parking garage scenes.

  She was rethinking her negative philosophy regarding office romances when Kiki walked past. She and several other female staff members were on their way to lunch and invited Miranda.

  Miranda declined, although she wanted to get out of the office for a little while. She’d worked through lunch for the last three days and deserved a break. Not to mention the Marks and Spencer sale started today and by tomorrow all the best things would be gone. She had to go. She double checked her wallet for both cash and credit cards and dashed out.

  ****

  “Hello, belle dame.”

  Miranda’s head snapped in the direction of the familiar voice. “Alex. Hi. What are you doing here?”

  “That’s a broad question. By here, do you mean, the lingerie department, Marks and Sparks’s store, or London?” He asked and took the white brassiere she’d been considering from her hand. Alex held it up for inspection. His gaze slid from the garment to Miranda’s chest and back.

  She felt herself flush under his perusal. To her greater embarrassment, Alex checked the size of the bra, before setting it on the display table.

  “London, I can figure out. I meant this specific department in this specific store. I figured you more for a Victoria’s Secret kind of man,” Miranda explained. She imagined he knew of stores she couldn’t name that sold a variety of underwear she probably wouldn’t know how to put on.

  Alex flashed a sexy, I know more than any one man should, kind of smile and continued to check the size labels on different bras.

  “Here,” he handed her a frilly, bronze one, cut so it pushed the wearer’s breasts high and together. “This is a much better color for you. It compliments your complexion and hair. As to your analysis, I generally don’t shop for women’s undergarments. I trust they’ll know what appeals to me. But, I saw you pop in here and followed.

  “What size panties do you wear?”

  “Pardon?” Miranda’s brows shot up. She wasn’t sure what surprised her more, the bold question or Alex’s nonchalant expression. He acted like they were discussing the weather.

  “I asked what size panties you wear. While you go and try on the bra, I’ll find the matching undies for you.”

  He studied her hips then spun Miranda around and scrutinized her butt.

  She squirmed and wrenched herself out of Alex’s hold on her waist to face him. “If you think I’m going to stand still while you gauge how big my bum is, you are mad as a hatter.”

  Unfazed, he casually suggested, “I’m guessing a medium thong or should I grab a small too?”

  “I hate thongs. I’d rather go commando. For the record, there are only four women on the planet who can wear a thong well enough to use their real names. As for anyone else who’s contemplating wearing one, I advise...don’t, not until you see your backside in a 360 degree mirror first.” Miranda pointed an index finger at his nose. “And, I’m not trying the bra on either.”

  Alex’s eyes dropped to her chest, “Pity.” He took Miranda by the hand and led her to another table. “We still have to find you some matching panties.”

  “We?”

  “You needn’t be embarrassed.” He bent close. “I’ve seen my fair share of lady’s smalls. When we’re done, we’ll go for coffee.”

  There was no arguing with him. He stood over her as she sorted through a half dozen different styles of panty in the same shade of bronze. Every so often, he’d hold up a pair and she’d tip her head from side to side and give him an indecisive shrug. Most of what she held up, he’d vehemently shake his head no to and made a sour face. At last, they both agreed on a pair with delicate lace on the front and high French cut legs.

  “Do you have some place special in mind?” Miranda asked as they left the store.

  “Yes. A coffee house called The Octavo. It’s not far.”

  “What a strange name.”

  “I’m sure that’s not the original name.” Alex said and hurried them across the street mid-block. “It’s decorated with wallpaper that simulates a library. The door to both loos are covered and you have to figure out which book to push to get in. I like watching people as they get more and more frustrated trying to find the toilet.”

  “That’s mean.”

  “No, that’s someone easily amused.” He turned down a well hidden mews. The cafe sat at the end of the alley. “Here we are.” Alex held the door for her.

  She didn’t know quite what to make of Alex’s invitation. Unsure of his motives at first, she couldn’t articulate what she’d expected. He never struck her as someone who’d betray a friend, especially a close friend like Ian. But, he did have a serious womanizer reputation and they had spent a bit of time handling intimate garments. Shopping for lingerie with a man was a first for her. Shopping with a man like Alex contributed to her discombobulation.

  When they first sat down, Miranda kept her guard up. Then, as the hour progressed, she lowered it. At no time did Alex say or do anything she’d deem licentious, or unsavory, or in questionable taste. He’d been a perfect gentleman and a marvelous conversationalist. He had a curious way of seeing the world, droll, a bit caustic, definitely astute, but judgmental in a medieval way in some matters. Occasionally, he’d make a comment that sounded rather old world.

  She wanted to understand him better and her mind would wander as her brain picked apart something he said. As a result, she’d lose the gist of the conversation and he’d have to repeat himself. The third time, she asked him to repeat what he said, Alex studied her and took a long pause before he complied. She figured he suspected her of being ditzy. After that, she paid closer attention.

  Her second cappuccino arrived. Alex sipped a double espresso. She felt at ease and as she relaxed the same strong feeling of connection to him she felt the first day returned. It was the sense of deja-vu again that made her blurt, “Dust in the Wind.” The conversation had turned to their shared appreciation of music and the old Kansas song popped into her head. For reasons she’d never be able to explain, she saw Alex singing to it. Most of the fleeting picture was a blur. A hazy vision made more bizarre by the fact the room in the brief glimpse looked similar to her drawing room.

  “What did you say?” Alex asked, staring hard at her.

  Miranda fidgeted in her seat under his scrutiny. “This is going to sound a little crazy, but I had this weird flash of the song Dust in the Wind, and pictured you singing it.”

  “I don’t find that at all crazy. I find it...how shall I say...more than interesting.”

  She could almost see the wheels of his mind turn as he ran a finger along the rim of the cup, his eyes never leaving her.

  “Tell me how you pictured me.”

  “There’s not much to say. Like I said, it happened so fast.” The illusion of Alex didn’t generate the tumultuous emotions the visions of Ian did. She had no idea why.

  “Really, it was like a camera flash. For that instant, you looked old fashioned.” Miranda’s hand stirred the air as she searched for the words, “Oh, you know, boots, breeches, and a tunic thing. You appeared sort of sad.”

  Alex passed the espresso under his nose and then took a sip. “Have you ever seen these flash pictures of Ian?”

  A guttural, piggy sound emanated from her as air and liquid went down the wrong way, choking her. Thank God, it had been a small swallow or she’d have sprayed Alex.

  He rushed over and alternately patted and rubbed her back.

  “Are you all right?”

  Miranda mumbled she was fine and Alex returned to his seat.

  “Why do I think you’re uncomfortable with this subject?”

  Miranda shrugged.

  “Perhaps, if I rephrase the question,” Alex said and watched her with analyt
ical eyes. “If you had to see Ian in some other, let’s use the term persona, for lack of a better word. How would you see him?”

  Miranda wanted to answer with a complete recapping of every strange vision she’d had of Ian. She wanted to unburden herself and share what she’d experienced. She wanted someone else to tell her she wasn’t crazy. Self-doubt and fear the response might go the other way made her rein in her temptation. Not completely though.

  “I see him as an intellectual Clive Owen.”

  Alex’s gaze flickered over her and she sensed the wheels of his mind turning again.

  “Gosford Park, Clive,” or, Alex quirked a brow, “Closer, Clive, or King Arthur, Clive?”

  “King Arthur, Clive.”

  “Hmmm.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Alex kissed Miranda on the cheek and said goodbye then returned to Marks and Spencer. He searched the display tables in the lingerie department. He couldn’t find a bra and panties exactly like the ones Miranda bought. After spending several minutes trying to hunt down a sales girl, one happened by. He hooked her elbow.

  “You had a very feminine, bronze colored bra on the sale table this morning?” The clerk stared vacantly at him. “Satin ribbons, loads of lace.” Her gaze didn’t alter. “It was the fanciest one on display. There were matching panties in the same color, also with frilly lace,” he told her with growing impatience.

  Her head bobbed up and down then stopped. Silence.

  Alex waved his hand in front of her face. “Hello.”

  “What?”

  “Think you can handle a trip to the stockroom to check on another set?” She nodded but didn’t move. “Now.”

  “Oh, right. I’ll look for a nice black set too in case I can’t find the others.”

  “No. They have to be the same style, the same color.” Alex said. “Bring out whatever size you find.”

  The sales girl disappeared behind the “employee’s only” door. After several minutes, she returned with the matching pair. The wait had almost made him late for an appointment.