Must Love Chainmail
Page 27
At first, the crowd stared, their expressions stunned--not from the power of his speech, but because he’d dared make it at all. That he’d not begged forgiveness and absolved the executioner instead. Then murmurs arose, and someone yelled, “Cefnogwr Cymru!”
Yes, he was a Welsh sympathizer. Perhaps the English cur thought himself a wit by taunting him in Welsh. Who knew.
The crowd picked up the words, and began to chant, “Cefnogwr.”
Lord Powys yanked him to the priest. “Enough of this.”
Robert caught Powys’s gaze and held it, unflinching, until the callous youth glanced away. Only then did Robert bow his head before the priest and confess his sins. The ointment smeared onto his forehead and palms was cool as the priest performed the last rites.
Katy gasped for air, her body shaking so uncontrollably she almost felt separate from this body of jerking limbs. Even if she could barrel through the crowd, what could she do? Risking having him disappear from a cell to save him from a fate she’d caused to begin with was one thing, but in front of all these witnesses? Did she even care how that would get recorded in history?
Finally, as if he felt the weight of her stare, her terror, he locked his gaze with hers. Bursting from his eyes was all the love and determination which filled him. He began his speech, and her throat closed up tight. She dared not turn away, for him. She could feel it in his gaze, his taking strength from her, and she’d not fail him in this. All her horror and helplessness lashed at her, drained her strength, her will, as if it truly was passing to him via their connection.
Oh God, how could she possibly watch this?
Everyone around her remained oddly hushed as he spoke, his voice ringing with conviction, but when he finished, the jeers and shouts erupted again, buffeting her with their animosity.
One shout nearby jolted her. “Hang him. Hang Robert de Beucol, Robert the Cefnogwr Cymru.”
The cry of “Cefnogwr” was taken up by others until it became a chant, rolling through the crowd. A chill sliced up her spine and jumpstarted a tiny flicker of hope in her heart. A way to save him flashed in her mind, sharp with inevitability. As the chant spread, Katy reeled, remembering the tour at the little Welsh Church of St. Cefnogwr and the warrior-saint rescued by an angel.
Her heart lurched, taking that new flicker of hope and igniting it into a newfound strength. After all, it had already happened.
But how? The crowd was too thick between her and the gallows. She raked her gaze desperately over the grim platform. Both sides were packed as well.
Then her gaze fell on the gatehouse and the battlements above. And the exact words of the tour guide rang through her. She muscled her way through the crowd toward its side. Her idea was so crazy, she could scarce process it. But she didn’t let it stop her.
She stumbled through the last of the spectators, which gave her a clear path to the gatehouse. She broke into a run and slipped through gate tower door. The three pouches strapped to her waist bounced against her hips as she pounded up the stairs. At the top, she pushed onto the battlements where more spectators had gathered for a better view. She sprinted along the rough stone and peeked over the side—the gallows were closer than she dared hope.
But—Oh God—his head was already in the noose. The executioner’s hand pulled on the knot until it was tight around his neck. And all the while, he stood there, calmly.
She drew even with him and braced her hands on the parapet. There he was. A leap away.
The executioner stooped, picked up a rope—a rope attached to the stool Robert stood on—and yanked.
And Robert dropped.
And Katy’s whole body seized in horror.
Oh God, Robert!
Fear and remorse gripped her but…his feet kicked! It hadn’t been a sharp drop to snap his neck like the Old West.
She still had time for her plan. She climbed onto the parapet. Don’t miss.
“Stop him!”
Oh shit. Guards.
She gripped her case in her hand, its cool metal and sharp edges biting into her palm, and jumped, arms outstretched.
The rushing air caught the folds of her white mantle, snapping them into the wind. Timing was everything—she had to wish with all of her heart the instant she touched him or she’d snap his neck with her weight.
Conviction sang through her. She was the angel. This would work. It had already happened.
A second later, her body slammed into his, and she made her wish.
Chapter Thirty
And after the first meal, Pwyll arose to walk, and he went to the top of a mound that was above the palace, and was called Gorsedd Arberth. “Lord,” said one of the Court, “it is peculiar to the mound that whosoever sits upon it cannot go thence, without either receiving wounds or blows, or else seeing a wonder.” “I fear not to receive wounds and blows in the midst of such a host as this, but as to the wonder, gladly would I see it. I will go therefore and sit upon the mound.”
The Mabinogion, an ancient Welsh romance
Katy’s butt thudded against a hard surface, and she rocked onto her back with a pained gasp. Robert’s warm body was firmly in her grip, and under her palm, his heart beat—thank God—but too fast. He gagged and sucked in several labored breaths.
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Did she do it? Or did she merely break the rope?
She pulled air into burning lungs and fought a wave of dizziness and nausea. Her heart fluttered alarmingly, as if it would zoom right out of her body.
Okay. Okay. Okay. Open an eye.
Face scrunched against his back, she popped one open to a near darkness, only to have a car horn blare, and a bright light blind her, approaching rapidly.
“Crap!”
Her heart nearly exploding out of her now, she rolled until they thumped against a curb, and the car swerved in the other direction. Yeah, it appeared her heart beats had no intention of slowing down now. But…that close call meant… She craned her head, her chin brushing against Robert. Lights from streetlamps glinted off a paved street, a sidewalk, and a neatly printed tourist map on a green sign. Loud music blared from the headphones of a passing teen, a laughing couple strolled by, their clothes from her time.
Now her heart was really pounding.
Holy crap, she’d done it.
Holy crap, what now?
His noose!
She swept frantic hands around his neck, but the rope was gone; only she and Robert, and their clothes and possessions, had made the trip. The wrist bindings were gone as well. She had to get him isolated. Isolated so she could explain. Everything. And he could freak out in private.
Please understand, Robert. Please understand.
“What’s the deal with the Jesus dude?” an American-accented voice said, piercing her thoughts.
Huh?
Katy stared at the gathering crowd. Jesus? She stumbled upright and helped Robert to stand. He gasped for breath and swayed. Oh. The onlooker referred to Robert, with his trim beard, semi-longish hair—seriously it was only just past his ears, not Jesus-length—and the fact that he wore nothing but that funny underwear, which, yeah…
Hotel. Where was a hotel? The curious crowd was making her skin itch in nervousness—she so didn’t need to expose Robert to all this. She tucked her case behind her belt.
“I’m telling you, they just appeared out of thin air,” another onlooker said, his words slurred.
“Ah, lay off the drink, why don’t ya, Owen?”
Where the hell was she?
She helped Robert to the tourist display, their feet crunching over pebbles. The sign read, “Castle Park Flint.” Okay, wow, the same spot as the hanging, only hundreds and hundreds of years later. Good. That was good.
Another couple, in their early thirties, walked by, and she asked for directions to the closest hotel. She would not ask the growing crowd of drunk youths.
“Katy.” Robert’s thick, strained voice cut through the night’s air. “What has transpired?”
Thankfully, they were, and she hustled a stumbling Robert into the lobby of the old hotel where she asked for a room.
The proprietor only raised an eyebrow. “Identification and method of payment.”
“Oh, um, hang on.” It was weird speaking and thinking again in her normal English.
She settled Robert in a chair, his gorgeous eyes open, but glazed. “I can explain,” she whispered. “Please stay quiet until we’re alone.”
He jerked his gaze to hers but didn’t respond, his face blank.
Please don’t freak out. Not yet. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it, hoping her touch helped ground him. “Trust me. I can explain. You with me?”
His eyes held hers and gradually focused. He gave one short nod and straightened in the chair.
Katy squeezed his hand again and untied the burlap bag from her belt. She spread it open, revealing her purse. Fumbling through the contents with shaking fingers, she grabbed her identification and her money. As she handed them to the attendant, a strange feeling of disconnect stole over her. Earlier today, she’d paid for something with gold measured from her melted ring. Now she used an intrinsically worthless piece of plastic. Somehow this felt less real.
The attendant, his light brown hair slicked back and parted on the side, was too polite to ask, but curiosity obviously animated his movements, his quick, searching glances as he completed her registration.
“We were, uh, in a reenactment, for the tourists, and my friend here got a little sick, so we skipped out.”
He seemed to accept this. “Ah, sure. I hope he feels better. Not contagious, is he?”
“No. Just, uh, overheated. Thank you.”
What day was it? She pulled her phone from her purse, turned it on, and peeked. It picked up a signal from the nearest tower, and the date and time glowed at the top. 8:43 p.m. October 23rd. Sixteen days since she’d left.
Good God, her friends and family must be worried sick.
“Come on, Robert. Let’s get you up these stairs.”
She didn’t dare subject him to the elevator and, besides, their room was only on the next floor. But how to explain all this to Robert? How to help him adjust? Would he be mad at her for taking him from his time without asking?
She rehearsed what she’d tell him. Sweat beaded her skin—yeah, from the effort of getting a hunky but disoriented medieval warrior up a flight of stairs, but also from the worry.
Robert moved onto another step, touched the abraded skin on his neck, and winced. But the pain and soreness was as nothing compared to the panic surging through him. Where the hell was he? Was he…in the afterlife?
When he’d dangled from the rope, he’d found a measure of peace and acceptance for his fate. A good death.
But as his vision had grown spotted, his body had fought his mind, desperate to live despite the circumstances. And his body had shouted, “No!”
Kaytee. He hadn’t wanted to leave Kaytee.
But what could he do? Naught. Naught but pray to his Maker for leniency for his sins. Leniency that would allow a reunion with Kaytee in the afterlife.
Then his breaths had become harder to pull into his lungs. White spots had filled his vision. Then blackness.
Blackness…until the warmth of his woman’s body had embraced him, her sweet scent surrounding him.
Ah, this was peace. He could die now.
Blackness…peace…pierced of a sudden by an unholy noise and bright light. All was confusion.
But then he’d smelled her.
As he’d gasped for air, he’d pulled her tighter to him. A dream? How else could his beloved be with him?
When his eyes had adjusted to the new surrounding blackness, he’d realized he was…well, he knew not where.
Now, he took another painful step and rubbed his neck.
Kaytee.
Kaytee was the only common element in all this madness. A madness that threatened to choke his pounding heart. Kaytee was familiar. Kaytee would aid him. Kaytee would explain.
He repeated this belief, over and over, as she assisted him up a flight of stairs. A flight of stairs whose angles were so precise, it stunned him.
Kaytee would explain. Explain these hellish surroundings. She’d said she would.
Yes. As blood and feeling animated his limbs once more, strength returned with each step. They were together, were they not?
Katy led Robert to a recliner, eased him down, and closed their hotel room door. She leaned back and sighed.
“Okay. I can do this,” she whispered.
She spun away and paced from one wall to the next several times, marshaling her thoughts. “I’m going to tell you what’s happened. It’s going to sound completely crazy, and you most likely will think I’m insane, but, well, the proof is all around us.”
She stepped to the foot of his chair and knelt, placing her hands on his knees. “Keep your eyes on me for right now, and listen to what I’m about to tell you.”
“How did you spirit me away from the gallows?” His hand rubbed his neck, confusion clouding his gaze.
“Um, yeah, that’s tied into what I’m about to tell you. You see, I’m from the future.”
He shook his head. “The future? What do you mean?”
“Well, you know how events happen and end up as history--they make up our past?”
“Yes…”
“And you know how people will live past you, have their own lives—children and their children’s children. Well, picture that that history keeps happening, events keep going. With me?”
“Yes…” he said, as if she were explaining the obvious. Okay, so she’d backed up the explanation too far.
“Okay, so… Well, I come from one of those future times. Somehow I got pulled from my time, back through all my history, to your time.”
His eyes grew rounder, his eyebrows drawing downward. Yeah, parsing time travel concepts gave her a headache too.
“How is that possible? Do people from your time do this often?”
“Er, no. I don’t know how it happened. Wow. You’re taking this better than I thought.”
“Well, there is much magic in this world, who’s to say what’s possible?”
Funny, but the farther back one went, the chances were better that they’d accept what happened. It had been a lot harder for Isabelle to convince Phineas in their more scientific-based world. “I guess you’re right.”
“So it was magic?”
“Why not? I certainly can’t explain it. That token I told you I needed to get from the villager, it was the device that brought me to your time.” She took a deep breath. Now for the biggie. “And it’s what brought me back to my time, brought us here.”
He jerked in the chair, the thigh muscles under her palms tensing. “What are you saying?” He braced his hands on the armchair and looked around the room, eyes dazed and frantic.
“I found that token, Robert. I couldn’t let you die. I hope you understand. After I left you in the cell, I went to Wrexham and found the token.” She quickly filled him in on her frantic mission and how she’d jumped from the battlements to save him.
He swallowed hard and held her gaze. “How far have you sped me ahead in time?”
She winced and squeezed his thighs. “About seven hundred years.”
He reeled back and then folded forward, arms around his middle as if he’d been punched in the stomach. His breaths came harsh and fast. After a long moment, he slowly unfolded and braced himself again on the armrests. His gaze held hers, bleak. “So, everyone I know is dead?”
“Yes,” she whispered and rubbed his thighs. “I’m so sorry, Robert. I meant to ask your permission. Find you in your cell and take you with me if you agreed. But when I got back to Flint, I was too late. Please
tell me I did the right thing.”
His eyes were roiling with anguish and confusion. “There is much for me to absorb. Please, allow me some time to adjust to what you have revealed.”
Certainly understandable. But—oh God—she just wanted to wrap him up in a big hug. “Of course. I need to contact my friends and family. Take all the time you need.”
Please understand, Robert. Please understand.
“You’re where?” shrieked Traci.
Katy held the phone away from her ear. “I’m in a hotel in Flint.” She gave her the name of the hotel on Chester Road.
“Where the hell have you been? I know you were having second thoughts, but you didn’t have to just up and leave. You know how worried we’ve been? We were starting to believe the worst. Not cool, Katy. Not cool.”
“I didn’t do it on purpose. And I couldn’t contact you until now. I…I had amnesia.”
Amnesia? Wow, that was lame. Was she suddenly channeling a cheesy soap opera? Who the hell gets amnesia in real life? Embarrassment heated her face.
Traci’s tone was still strident but now all bent on getting the story and making sure she was okay.
Katy cleared her throat. “Um, yeah. I was…wandering around that ravine where you left me? And I slipped and fell. The ground gave way under me, and I fell into this crevice. I woke up in the middle of the night, and didn’t know who I was. I only just regained my memories.”
“Good Lord, Katy. I’m glad you’re okay. We’re still all in Wales, except for Catherine. She had to go back to work and also to console Preston. We hadn’t given up looking. We’re in Aberystwyth. We’ll settle up here, pack, and be there in three hours. Book us a room?”
“Will do.”
Katy ended the call and then looked down. Crap. Clothes. These would be hard to explain away. And it was too late to go to a store.