Love Lost in Time

by Cathie Dunn

  “This is the happiest day of my life,” he said, surprised at himself for it was true.

  He had won decisive battles, gained in status, but the most important thing he could think of was the girl sitting beside him. In recent days, her gaining in confidence had seen them enjoying heated discussions, exploring nearby parts of their territory and planing the continued fortification of Carcassonne.

  Eventually, she had even agreed to leave Lot at home and ridden out with him alone. It had raised a few eyebrows, but Milo had simply nodded, certain in the knowledge that Bellon would behave with responsibility and in good faith. Although tempted beyond words, Bellon had kept his promise – and his reward had seen Hilda beginning to trust him. It had made this day possible and very special.

  “Son!” With a clap on his shoulder, Milo shook him from his reverie. Had he really been staring into Hilda’s eyes all this time? Heat shot into his neck and cheeks. He blamed it on the wine!

  He stood and engulfed his father-in-law in a strong embrace. Milo had done so much for him, at the king’s court and offering his daughter, and he was glad to see the knight content. “Milo. Be seated and have some wine. It will be a long day of celebrations!”

  He winked, and Milo laughed. “Oh, I’m certain we can cope with a few days of festivities over the holy days. God knows how soon reality will return…”

  Hilda shot him a sharp glance. “Father! No talk of warfare today.”

  Bellon sensed the tension returning into her frame and nudged her. “Do not fret, Hilda. There will be too much entertainment for him to have any morose thoughts. I promise!”

  He smiled, and her breathing steadied, yet a sad look in her eyes remained when she took a draught.

  Wine and ale were flowing freely all day, and although the food was rich – the usual rabbit stew replaced by a large roast boar and venison cuts in a strong red wine sauce laced with rosemary – nobody grew tired. After servants had removed the trenchers – to be given to the poor – and cleared the tables, jugglers entertained the gathering with their tricks.

  Bellon was pleased with how the day went. Milo’s earlier mood had evaporated, and he talked animatedly to Dagobert beside him. And after recent skirmishes, his men and their families enjoyed the feast.

  As the sun set, more torches were lit and the mood mellowed. A storyteller took up the space in their centre, close to the fire. Lot handed him a tankard of ale, which he gratefully received before he began.

  Silence descended when the strong voice cut through the chatter.

  Bellon leaned back into his chair, stretching his legs. Watching Hilda brought a smile to his face. She had cocked her head, her gaze focused on the stranger.

  “My mother used to tell me this tale when I was small,” he whispered. “Do you know it?”

  She shook her head. “No, but it’s intriguing.”

  Content with her reaction, he reached across to take her hand. After a surprised glance, she sighed and gave his a light squeeze, then continued to listen as the raconteur shared more tales of heroic deeds from the proud warriors of Septimania. Yes, she fit in well already…

  Eventually, he rose, pulling her gently up with him, and the crowd fell silent. He raised the hand that held hers in a strong grip. “My dear friends. The lady Nanthild and I wish to thank you for joining us today on this important occasion. Together, we will ensure that the county of Carcassonne and Razès will flourish under our rule and our guidance. I swear to defend the fortress with my sword, and the lady Nanthild will turn this rough shell into a warm and welcoming home for all of us. I thank God for his kindness in providing me with a beautiful and intelligent wife, and I’m certain that you will award her the same respect that I hold for her. To the future of Carcassonne!”

  Bellon raised his cup with his free hand and glanced at his wife, still unable to believe his good fortune.

  Showing her upbringing as the daughter of a count and a lady of the educated Frankish court, she smiled into the assembled crowd. “I promise that there will always be an open door for all inhabitants of the fortress and beyond. I am grateful for your support in building a home worth coming back to, wherever your paths may take you. I have much to learn about Carcassonne – and Septimania – but your interests are now close to my heart. Thank you.”

  The loud tapping of dozens of hands on the tables brought tears to her eyes, and Bellon squeezed her hand with growing pride. The smiles on the faces around them showed that people wanted to accept her, even with her Frankish origins. That small but obvious fact relieved him.

  Having said their piece, it was time for them to withdraw to their rooms on the upper floor. Amalberga took Hilda into her arms, whispering words of…support? Encouragement?

  “Milo?”

  “Bellon.” His father-in-law stood awkwardly and took his arm in a firm grip. He sensed the older man’s nervousness.

  “Can I trust you with this lot?” He gestured towards the rather merry crowd.

  Milo grinned. “You can. I’ll make sure they are on their best behaviour. And…” he hesitated, his gaze drifting to Hilda beside them and back to him, “you know I trust you too.”

  Bellon nodded.

  “Daughter.” Milo gave Hilda a kiss on both cheeks. “I’m proud of you. Always have been, and always will.”

  Tears glistened in her eyes and, lost for words, she merely gave her father a shy smile.

  Straightening her shoulders, her gaze met his, and Bellon nodded. Her hand cool in his, he led her to the door to the yard where Amalberga waited with a cloak. He thanked her and wrapped it around Hilda’s shoulders.

  Leaving the old maid clasping her hands at her heart, they left the hall and took the creaky steps to the upper floor, hurrying to escape the chilly wind.

  Without speaking, he led her into his chamber – their chamber now – and quietly closed the solid door behind him. On second thoughts, he drew the bolt into place.

  At her alarmed glance, he held up his hands and smiled. “Don’t fret, Sweeting! I just don’t want any unexpected…interruptions!”

  She gasped. “People do that?”

  “Oh yes, when they’ve had a few cups too many. This way, nobody will disturb us. Now…” He turned to a small table where a jug and two goblets stood on a small tray. “Would you like more wine?”

  Hilda took a deep breath. “Perhaps a little, yes.”

  “A good idea.” He poured the ruby liquid into the intricate goblets and handed one to her. “It will help you…”

  She took a few sips, then looked around the chamber. He could not tell whether she approved or not. “If there is anything you wish to change in here, let me know. I’ve only ever used the room for sleeping.”

  “I may have some ideas.”

  She smirked.“Great. I’m looking forward to hearing about them. Later…”

  He put down his goblet and walked towards her. Pulling her slowly towards him, he put her drink aside and trailed the line of her face and throat with his fingers. The flickering candles cast shadows on her face. Her curvy body felt warm beneath his touch.

  She shuddered, but kept her gaze steady. A surge of emotion washed through him. If she was afraid, she did not show it. He lowered his mouth to hers, probing gently. Sensing her response, hesitant at first, then growing in confidence, he drew her towards the bed.

  Chapter Eleven

  Early April, 2018

  Maddie sat on the sofa with a cup of coffee, looking at the chaos at her feet. Papers everywhere! Sifting through old bills and other paperwork, she had created two piles: one for the bin, and another for the lever arch files. She knew French bureaucracy well and expected she needed to keep some documents for reference.

  Her thoughts returned to her recent trip. After having researched the history of the fortress of Carcassonne, Maddie was convinced what she was dealing with were visions. As unlikely as it seemed, something – or someone – in the past called to her. She knew which time the weapons, helmets and cloth
ing she’d ‘seen’ at the Tour Wisigothe stemmed from: they were early medieval, in the style worn by the Franks. But she couldn’t explain the scent of lavender that had followed her there from the house.

  Léon was baffled, too, when she told him over a café at their local épicerie one morning. But he took it seriously, even asking for details, and to her relief, he didn’t laugh or make jokes. He’d felt the earth move in her kitchen, too, after all. Yet, like her, he had no solid, scientific response.

  More and more, she found his opinion mattered to her. By now, they met almost every other day, and Maddie had to admit that it was more than a simple welcome of a ‘new girl in town’. Still somewhat reluctantly, she enjoyed his company and open interest. Whatever lay ahead of her once her year in France was up, who knew…

  For now, the renovations took priority, so today, the work on the kitchen would finally start. She had agreed the date with Jean Marti, the builder recommended by Léon. Given the strange goings-on, she was keen to get the floor done soon.

  The maire, Bertrand Carnot – Bertrand to his friends to whom she now counted, too – had accompanied Monsieur Marti to explain the scope of the work required, but had beforehand urged her not to breathe a word about anything they might find. So Maddie kept quiet, as instructed.

  Léon had brought boxes and helped her empty the large kitchen cupboard, sideboard and dresser, then moved the heavy pieces of furniture with her into the corridor which was fast becoming very narrow. She had advertised some items on Leboncoin, a French online sales site, and someone would pick up the cupboard the next day, together with a large wardrobe and ornate bed which clogged up the spare bedroom. As cruel as it sounded, she couldn’t wait to get rid of them. They simply weren’t her style, and they would suffocate any potential buyer at the time of viewing. Maddie didn’t want much money for the heavy pieces, although she knew they would be valuable, but if people picked them up themselves, they saved her the job of taking them to the skip or wasting time with brocante dealers.

  As it was, she hadn’t progressed with decorating, as planned. Instead, decluttering became her priority. She had donated old crockery to a charity and taken curtains and carpets that looked like they could enjoy a second chance to the dry cleaners. The worn ones had gone to the skip, together with much of Elizabeth’s faded 1980s utensils.

  A knock on the door pulled her from her musings. Taking the mug, she checked her watch as she went to answer. Monsieur Marti arrived on time – most likely prompted by Bertrand who accompanied him again. Maddie had to smile. The maire seemed keen to discover if any secrets lay below the surface of her house even more so than she did!

  He might end up sorely disappointed…

  The builder outlined the first steps – lifting the tiles – and warned her that dust might filter through the house. She laughed and shrugged it off, but quickly closed the door to the living room with its bright new walls.

  Once the schedule was agreed, she excused herself and left the men to their work: Monsieur Marti drilling the floor tiles, and Bertrand sitting on a chair in the corridor, not letting the kitchen out of sight. If the maire’s behaviour perturbed the builder, he didn’t show it. She felt a pang of sadness at the loss of the beautiful red tiles, but they were impractical and out of kilter. Maddie went into the living room, closed the door behind her, and continued to sort papers.

  By lunchtime, she emerged to find the men getting ready for their break. The sight before her made her stop in her tracks. The builder had made good progress, though it was Bertrand who had a trace of sweat on his brow, though not through exhaustion. One-third of the beautiful floor tiles was gone, and the exposed ground was now a few inches lower, to make it easier to lay a more solid concrete base for the new floor.

  Both men returned after two in the afternoon with Léon in tow.

  “Salut,” he said, smiling. “Are you ready?”

  She let them in, nodding, before she grabbed her handbag. There was nothing of value in this house, and she found that she trusted Bertrand not to pry amongst her mother’s belongings. “Yes, let’s go.”

  She turned at the door, calling out, “À tout à l’heure, messieurs!”

  Bertrand, seated on his chair again, waved her off with a grin, then covered his ears with earmuffs just as Monsieur Marti began to drill again.

  Following Léon into his Range Rover, she shook her head, giggling. “I hope Bertrand won’t be disappointed. He’s expecting something big, I think.”

  Léon laughed and, turning the key, started the motor. Gently, he eased the car into the lane towards Carcassonne before he sent her a sideways glance, the corners of his eyes creased with humour. “My very thought. He is very excited about finding something historically significant. He’s the head of the local history association, and the members are – how do you say? – on tenterhooks.”

  It felt like a comedy, although Bertrand and his club of history fans were seriously intrigued. She knew she would be, in their place. In fact, she had felt excited about it, too, though mixed with trepidation. She was a historian, though the Visigoths pre-dated her era of expertise. Still, if there was something buried under her kitchen floor – which she had doubted to start with – then she would still be thrilled.

  But if it were of importance, it might stall her redecorating project. Her mood turned sombre. “Well, whatever might or might not be there, I hope it won’t delay the works too much. I need the kitchen in order.”

  Léon nodded, the smile on his face dying. “That’s true. Let’s wait and see, shall we? It might bring up nothing of note, and poor Bertrand would be bitterly disappointed.”

  Maddie felt a pang, a sense of loss. Why did she have to bring up the fact that she had to get the house ready – for sale? It always brought a sense of sadness to their conversations.

  Especially as, in recent weeks, they’d become closer. She couldn’t deny that she had found Léon attractive – very attractive, in fact – and she was enjoying his attention. He’d kept his distance, being the perfect gentleman, but she had to admit that the odd touch, whilst handing her a glass or a cup made her skin tingle. It was exciting, being at the receiving end of a handsome, intelligent man’s charm. She’d not felt like that in over a decade. Not, she had to admit, since the very early days of dating.

  She brushed aside her thoughts and focused on the now. No more talk of selling the house.

  Léon cleared his throat. “Do you fancy going to Chez Jean-Pierre tonight?”

  The restaurant in a village by the Canal du Midi was meant to be excellent. Maddie realised she’d not been out for dinner since her arrival. Her heart skipped a beat.

  “Yes, that would be lovely. I’ve heard of it, but haven’t had a chance to visit yet.”

  “Then that’s settled. They do very nice seafood if you like that. I’ll pick you up, say, around 7 pm?”

  Nodding, she said, “That sounds yummy. Yes, 7 o’clock should give me enough time to get ready after our Indiana Joneses have left.”

  He laughed. “Good point. I wonder what treasures they’ll dig up,” he joked.

  “If it’s an arc, my career would take off.” She grinned.

  Glancing over at her, his eyes were full of mischief. “Yes, I can just see you welcomed at the Élysée…” He chuckled.

  “Oh, God forbid!” Maddie was mortified. “I’d love to write about it, but I’d hate the publicity.”

  “I’d help you with that…” He winked.

  Maddie smiled, content with their banter. She mustn’t think about the future. A year would pass by quickly. For now, she was looking forward to a relaxed dinner tonight with Léon. Small steps.

  But first, she had to decide on kitchen cupboards. And he knew just the place to go to.

  An hour and a half later, they exited a showroom owned by a friend of Léon’s. Maddie had chosen a small fitted kitchen with birch doors, in a mix of country style but modern enough. It would go on two walls, covering the sink, gas cooker and o
ven, but leaving enough space for the Welsh dresser and sideboard. The colour would go well with the pale floor tiles she had brought from Spain, and which were waiting in Léon’s garage. Resisting the temptation to buy a matching dining table and chairs, she said she’d consider it later. Who was she kidding?

  They had set the date for installation for fourteen days’ time. Delighted with the deal, she grinned as Léon led her back to the car. When his mobile buzzed, he hovered by the driver’s door and looked at her over the roof, his face serious.

  “It’s Bertrand.” He connected the call. “Oui, j’écoute.” His gaze didn’t leave hers while he listened to the maire, whose excited voice, though muffled, reached her ears. “Incroyable… Yes, I will tell her… We’re on our way back. See you at the house in twenty minutes.”

  A sinking feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. Her body began to shake, and she leaned into the car for stability. Léon ended the call and pushed his mobile into the inside pocket of his leather jacket.

  “You might want to get in,” he said, and lowered himself into the driver’s seat.

  Maddie sat slowly and pulled the door shut, clutching her hands in her lap.

  His eyes glinting, he looked at her, his warm, firm hand covering her shaky ones. “They found something.”

  She swallowed hard. “Did he say what?”

  He grinned. “No. He wants to tell us in person.” Revving up the car, he asked, “Are you OK? You’ve gone a bit pale.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I think so. I…I didn’t really believe that something was there.”

  “And now it feels strange that there is?”

  “Ouais.” Taking a deep breath, she let her thoughts wander. What would await them in Minervens?

  Léon drove as if the hounds of hell chased them, and Maddie held on to the handrail.

  “I’ve never known Bertrand to be so secretive,” he mused. “It’s bizarre he wouldn’t say what they found.”