Love Beyond Time

by Speer, Flora

  Savarec’s face turned red, and it seemed to Danise that he was preparing a sharp retort to Sister Gertrude’s scathing comments on his intelligence. Tired of their bickering, she moved away from them. When she did so, Count Redmond fell into step beside her.

  “I hope you do not find me as unacceptable as Count Autichar,’’ he said.

  “Compared to Autichar, you are the most charming of men,” she teased.

  “I do hope so. May I tell you about my home, and why I believe you would be an excellent wife for me?”

  To this suggestion Danise assented, so while they walked along the ríverbank in the golden midday sunshine, Redmond set forth all the sensible reasons why they should marry. She thought he was an honest man, and his person was clean and comely. He provided a humorous description of life on his estates, making her laugh several times. Danise felt completely at ease with him.

  “I have spoken enough about myself,” Redmond said at last. “Tell me how the stranger fares.”

  When Danise revealed the man’s name and described his improved condition, Redmond had another question for her.

  “May I visit him? He might like to talk with a man close to his own age, which I think I am. Michel may be lonely, or feeling apprehensive among people he does not know. By providing instruction in the ways of our menfolk, I might be able to ease his anxiety until his memory returns.”

  “How good of you,” Danise cried, liking Redmond even more for his generous concern over a man who was never completely out of her own thoughts. Neither Clodion nor Autichar could begin to capture her interest the way Michel had done. But Redmond? She regarded her third suitor with true warmth and a bright smile.

  “I believe we will become good friends,” she told him.

  “I would wish for more than friendship from you,” Redmond replied, “but it is a fair beginning. Now, when may I see Michel?”

  “I will take you to him immediately after the midday meal,” Danise promised.

  Chapter 4

  “We are agreed, then.” Redmond rose from his seat beside Michel’s bed. “As soon as you are well enough, I will introduce you to the other young men and teach you how to use Frankish weapons.”

  “The fransisca,” Michel replied, the image of the deadly short-handled throwing ax clear in his mind.

  “The fransisca is an older weapon, used in the time of the Merovingian kings and seldom seen in these days,” said Redmond, looking surprised. “Under King Pepin, and now under Charles, we have new and better arms.

  “But, I thought -” Michel stopped, shaking his head. “Obviously, I am mistaken. What weapons will I learn to use?”

  “The scramasax, our dagger, though sometimes it is as long as a sword,” Redmond replied. “Also the spear and, most important, the sword. We Franks are famous for our fine sword blades. They are so envied that Charles has made a law forbidding them to be taken out of Francia, so our enemies cannot buy them and thus use Frankish-made weapons against us in battle.”

  “I look forward to the lessons,” Michel told him. “It is boring to be so confined, to be dizzy each time I try to stand and move. I long for activity.”

  “There speaks the true warrior.” Redmond nodded his understanding. “From whatever country you come, we are brothers in heart, I think. Nor, after talking with you, have I any doubt that you are noble.”

  But I have doubts, Michel thought when he was alone again. Impatient as he was to be out of bed and moving about without feeling weak or light-headed, he was even more impatient to have his memory return. Too often Danise or Savarec, or now Redmond, used words that brought distinct images into his mind, but when he described those images he was told they were long out of date.

  “Mystery upon mystery,” he said to himself, swinging his feet to the ground. He sat on the edge of his bed, waiting for the dizziness to subside. When he felt steady enough to stand he went to Savarec’s wooden chest and lifted the lid. He knew by now that Danise was right when she said his own clothing would make him conspicuous in the Frankish camp and thus raise questions he was unable to answer.

  When he finally was well enough to don clothing and leave Savarecs tent it would be in the wooden tunic and breeches Guntram had given him. But the clues to his identity lay in the belongings with which he had come to this place. He picked up the pouch of coins that Clothilde had saved for him and took it back to the bed. There he opened it, letting the coins spill out across the quilt. They were in various sizes, most silver, a few of copper.

  “How finely they are made,” Danise said from just inside the tent entrance.

  “I didn’t hear you come in.” As always when she was with him, she captured his full attention. She sat at the foot of his bed, the folds of her green wool gown graceful about her. When she leaned forward to pick up a coin one of her thick braids fell over her shoulder, swinging between them, a rope of pale gold bound at its end with green ribbon.

  “Well?” she asked, and he realized that while he was absorbed in contemplating her hair and the delicate peach glow in her cheeks, she had been examining the coins and asking questions he had not heard. “Michel, have you discovered anything in these coins to tell you who you are?”

  “Not yet.” He was not looking at the coins. He was still looking at her. Nature had given her light brown brows and lashes several shades darker than her silvery hair, and her eyes were gray-green. Soft, trusting eyes, meeting his with perfect honesty, yet with a peculiar haunted quality. Michel put out a hand to stroke her smooth cheek and run his finger across the curve of her jaw to the tip of her chin. She sat still, not pulling away, allowing his caress while not encouraging it. He longed to touch her lips with his finger. He did not do what he wanted. The shadow in her eyes stopped him. He let his hand stray to her braid instead. He felt its silken smoothness sliding through his fingers and heard her catch her breath, a quiet sound, quickly smothered. Her glance did not forsake his, but the haunted expression deepened.

  “Why are you so sad?” At once he wished he had not asked. By the immediate withdrawal in her lovely face he knew he had trespassed into a personal domain where he had no right to go.

  “You are too perceptive.” With an irritated gesture she tossed the coin she was holding onto the little collection of silver and copper spread upon the quilt. “I cannot answer you. It is not your affair.”

  “I am not deaf, Danise, and I have begun to understand your language rather well. I hear what the people around me are saying. Are you unhappy because your father hopes you will soon agree to marry?” He stopped there, not telling her what it was on the tip of his tongue to say, that the thought of her marriage to anyone, even to a man as good-hearted and decent as Redmond, was as unpleasant to him as it apparently was to her.

  “You do not understand.” Danise rose, turning her back on him. She did not look at him when she spoke again.

  “Since you feel well enough to leave your bed,” she told him in tones reminiscent of Sister Gertrude, “you plainly do not need my nursing care any longer. I leave you to the men, Michel. I wish you the best of luck at weapons practice.” With that, she was out of the tent, the entrance flap swinging shut behind her.

  Michel shook his head in wonder at his own ineptness. No need to ask what had annoyed her. He had blundered into her private life and she did not want him there. He thought about the way her expression closed so quickly against him, recalled the rigidly straight line of her back as she left the tent. He groaned in frustration.

  From the first moment when he had glimpsed Danise’s face through pain-blurred, unfocused eyes, he had been aware of a peculiar connection to her. For days after that initial sight of her, Danise had been a near-angelic presence, drawing him back to consciousness when it would have been easier to slip away into painless darkness. Now that he was almost well again common sense told him this mysterious bond was an illusion created by his helplessness and nurtured by his continuing lack of memory. Common sense told him so but his heart, or some ot
her buried part of himself that believed in miracles, insisted that there was more to his presence at Duren than mere chance. And though he thought she would have denied it if he asked her, he believed Danise also felt the connection between them.

  But what did he want from her? Did he have the right to ask anything at all of her? Or, as Savarec had once suggested to him, did he have a family and friends somewhere else who were even now wondering where he was and if he yet lived? There was no way to answer any of those questions until his memory returned.

  He went back to the coins still spread out upon his bed, seeking in them some information about himself. He picked up one of the larger coins to examine it, turning it over, frowning while a chill slid down his spine. He picked up another coin, and then another, until he had looked closely at all of them. Certain numbers on the coins were dates and all of them fell within a twenty-year period. The dates represented an impossibility. But they were accurate. He knew it in his heart as well as in his mind. Furthermore, these were not ancient coins of the kind he was accustomed to finding in his work. This was recently minted money.

  His work? How in heaven’s name did he know about ancient coins?

  * * *

  “Hold your arm so,” Redmond instructed. “Slash like this. Auggh! Do you want to kill me? Gently, my friend, gently, please.” He drew back, grinning at Michel. “You are not new at this. You have used a sword before.”

  “So it would seem. I regret that I cannot recall the circumstances.”

  “You will, soon enough. Just be patient for a while longer.” Redmond lifted his broadsword again, ready to continue this first lesson in the use of Frankish weapons.

  Michel was not paying attention to his new friend. Lowering his own blade, Michel looked around the practice yard. Bounded on two sides by forest, this warriors’ territory opened on its third side to the roped-off corral where the horses were kept, and on its fourth side to meadow and river. Within the practice yard several groups of men were testing their skill in friendly combat. One of those men was strikingly tall and obviously had the strength to match his height, for he was holding off a cluster of young warriors, doing it easily and with much laughter on both sides.

  “Pay attention,” Redmond ordered, touching Michel’s side with the point of his sword. “Were I an enemy, I could have killed you just then. You must concentrate.”

  “Like this?” Michel met Redmond’s blade with a movement familiar to his hand and arm if not to his conscious mind. At once Redmond countered the attack and the two of them moved back and forth through a long series of blows and feints until both were drenched with sweat and Redmond called a halt.

  “Well done,” cried a cheerful voice. The tall man whom Michel had noticed earlier came up to them, putting out a huge fist to grip first Redmond’s offered hand and then Michel’s. “I am Charles. You can only be the stranger I have heard so much about. Welcome to Duren.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Michel was taller than all of the Frankish men he had met, but Charles was a good five inches taller still. Like most of the men at weapons practice on this warm May morning, Charles had stripped to the waist, exposing massive arms and a broad chest covered with golden hair. His shrewd blue eyes searched Michel’s face. Apparently approving of what he saw there, Charles nodded, then swept out an arm to indicate the encampment with its tents arranged in haphazard rows.

  “Let our temporary home be your home, too, Michel, for as long as you wish,” he said. Lifting his face and drawing in a deep breath, Charles continued, “I smell our next meal in the making. Join us at table, Michel. The hunting has been good today, so we will be eating spitted game birds, my favorite dish. I also smell newly baked bread, and onions and cabbage. Hildegarde mentioned fresh greens. After the efforts of this last hour, I am hungry. And hot,” he added.

  “So am I.” Redmond grinned at his king with easy familiarity. “And you, Michel? Has your appetite returned now that you have had some exercise?” Redmond slung a friendly arm across Michel’s shoulders.

  “There is nothing like good food eaten in the open air among friends,” Charles put in. “I much prefer such a meal to a boring official banquet.”

  They stood together, all three of them bare chested, Michel and Redmond still holding their swords in their hands. All of them looked with interest toward the open space before the royal tents at the center of the meadow, where they could see servants setting up trestle tables. The odors of roasting birds and simmering vegetables and herbs drifted their way from the fires where the cooks were hard at work preparing the meal. The companionable moment among the three men was interrupted when one of Charles’s servants came up to speak to him and, after a word to excuse himself, the king turned aside from Michel and Redmond.

  “Why don’t we swim before we eat?” Michel suggested. “We can wash the sweat away in the river.”

  “You are cleaner than a woman.” Redmond chuckled, slapping Michel on the back. “Let us swim, by all means. If I am freshly bathed and sweet-smelling, perhaps Danise will like me better. She spent too much time with Count Clodion last evening.” Redmond’s smile turned into a scowl. “I do not like that man, and not only because he and I are rivals for Danise’s hand.”

  “I met him only briefly yesterday when he stopped at Savarec’s tent, but I don’t like him, either,” Michel said. “There is something shifty about Count Clodion.”

  “Shifty?” Redmond asked, puzzled by the unfamiliar term. “Do you mean unfirm, like shifting sands on a beach? Not to be depended upon? Untrustworthy?”

  “All of those things,” Michel responded, recalling with distaste and anger the way in which Clodion looked at Danise.

  “You have made an accurate assessment of Clodion’s character for such a short acquaintance,” Redmond said. “I have my own criticism of him. Clodion is known to be a miser, and a lecher, too, in spite of his advanced age. I do not understand why Savarec allows him to press his suit for Danise. I fear if Clodion were to marry her, he would not treat Danise as she ought to be treated.”

  “And you would?” Michel could not keep the edge out of his voice. Redmond gave him a curious glance before answering.

  “I would always treat Danise with respect and affection. I would give the care of my estates into her keeping while I am away at war and entrust the raising of our children to her.”

  “Do you love her?” The question was abrupt, even rude, but Redmond, having sheathed his sword, was occupied in gathering up his folded tunic and cloak from the bench where he had left them and he did not seem to notice Michel’s sudden tension. He responded with measured thoughtfulness.

  “After a man and woman have been married for years,” Redmond said, “after they have endured life’s trials together and learned to know each other well, then comes a deep and abiding affection. I saw this between my own parents and have noted it in other long-married couples. If that is what you mean by love then, yes, I expect to feel it for Danise, in time. Until then, I find her desirable, and I do need to marry and get an heir. I like Danise very much, and the bedding of a pretty and willing young woman is always a pleasant business. Do you not find it so?”

  Redmond said all of this in such a matter-of-fact way that Michel could not take offense for Danise’s sake. But neither could he stay where he was and listen to Redmond talk of bedding Danise.

  “Michel?” Redmond touched his shoulder. “Is something wrong?”

  “My head has begun to ache again,” Michel lied. “I think it’s because of the bright sun and the heat. A swim will help.”

  They reached the river, where they discarded their weapons and stripped off their clothes before plunging naked into the cool water. Feeling the need of a few minutes alone, Michel struck out toward deeper water, leaving Redmond behind.

  He was determined not to quarrel with Redmond over Danise. Damn it, the man was his friend! Improbably, over the past few days and mostly out of the goodness of Redmond’s heart, they had become friends. Redmon
d had introduced Michel to many of the young nobles, who accepted him because of Redmond’s sponsorship. Michel knew Savarec was pleased by the way he was fitting into this group of young men, and he vowed he would repay the debt of gratitude he owed to Savarec by not causing any trouble for his host. No, he would start no arguments with Redmond.

  Michel turned over on his back, floating with the current, thinking about Danise. She seemed to have lost all interest in him since he was up and about, and could communicate in the Frankish language. Her nursing duties toward him completed, she had turned him over to Redmond and then occupied herself so completely with her attendance on the queen that for the last day or so Michel had seldom seen her. And never alone. She was avoiding him.

  He missed her. He began to devise a plan to convince her to spend at least a little time alone with him. If he used that time well, other opportunities to be with her might follow.

  His musings were interrupted by a shout from some distance away. Treading water now, Michel looked toward shore. The current had carried him downstream until he had floated well past the spot where he and Redmond had first entered the water. Redmond stood hip-deep, waving to him to return. Standing beside Redmond, Charles also beckoned, and Michel could sense their concern for him. With a wave of one hand to show he understood, Michel began to swim back to them.

  The current was not particularly strong, and he was an accomplished swimmer. His long, measured strokes soon took him close to the place where Redmond and Charles were waiting for him. Charles swam out to meet him.

  “I have never seen anyone swim like that,” said the king of the Franks with great admiration. “How is it done?”

  “You are using the breast stroke,” Michel replied, “while I was doing the crawl. Like this.” He demonstrated, while Charles watched.

  “I must learn this,” Charles said. “It is faster.”

  “I just assumed that everyone knew how.” Michel slopped, wondering about that.