The Very Thought of You

by Lynn Kurland

  "And how the hell would you know?" Alex shouted. "Damn you, Jamie, how can you sit there so bloody calmly and tell me my wife is dead and there's not a damn thing I can do about it?"

  Jamie leaned back against the desk. "I'm hardly calm, Alex. I'm sick with grief for you."

  "Save it," Alex snapped, jumping to his feet. "I don't need it. What I need is to get the hell home."

  Jamie caught him by the arm on his way by. "Alex, wait—''

  Alex didn't think, he just let his fist fly. It wasn't a fair fight, but he didn't care. By the time Alex realized Jamie wasn't throwing any return punches, his brother-in-law's lip was bleeding, one eye was rapidly swelling shut, and he wasn't breathing very well anymore. Alex found it in himself to finally stop swinging. He stumbled away and leaned, hunched over, with his hands on Jamie's desk.

  "I'm sorry," he gasped. "I don't know what came over me."

  Jamie rolled to his feet stiffly. "Ah, well, I daresay I do. And I surely cannot blame you for your grief, Alex. The saints know I'd be feeling the same in your place."

  Alex wished he could dredge up some more fury. It would certainly be preferable to the flat despair that engulfed him.

  "There has to be a way," Alex said hoarsely.

  ''Will you hear me now?'' Jamie asked.

  Alex nodded. He threw himself down into Jamie's desk chair and waited for his brother-in-law to sit down carefully in the chair Margaret had inhabited so often.

  "I forced the forest once," Jamie said, looking at Alex unflinchingly. "I knew I shouldn't have, but I was arrogant enough to ignore what my heart told me."

  "So it can be done."

  "Aye. At least by me."

  "Go on."

  Jamie smiled, then winced and put his hand to his lip. "I wanted to see Jesse and wee Megan. I wanted to see my grandchildren left so many years behind me." He paused, then lifted an eyebrow. "Can you blame me?"

  "Not in the least."

  "I knew my time there was finished. Even so, I'd tried previously a time or two to wander into the forest and see if perhaps I could return."

  "Without Elizabeth?"

  Jamie winced. ''Aye. They were idle fancies I knew she wouldn't approve of."

  "Well, idiot, there was your mistake."

  Jamie scowled at him. "I didn't want to risk her."

  "Like she would have accepted that as an excuse!"

  "Well," Jamie said, sounding slightly offended, "I thought it most logical at the time."

  "And then?"

  "And then I decided that I would bend the forest to my will, no matter the cost. I took Elizabeth with me and forced the gate."

  "How?"

  "Don't ask."

  Alex lifted an eyebrow. "Not a pleasant experience, I take it."

  "Very unpleasant," Jamie agreed. "But travel we did to Jesse's time only to find Megan in her grave by a pair of years and Jesse freshly laid out for his own coffin. My kin thought they'd seen a ghost, and Beth and I scarce made it back to the forest before they tried to burn us."

  Alex felt his mouth drop open. "You've got to be kidding."

  Jamie shook his head. "A clan legend is only well received when the legend doesn't make personal appearances, or so I'd say from my experience."

  Alex frowned. "And you think if I try to force the gate, the same will happen to me?"

  "You couldn't force the gate, Alex. Perhaps I could, to send you back, but I can guarantee you wouldn't like it. And I couldn't say what welcome you'd receive. You might arrive just in time to see Margaret perishing in the flames and be too late to save her."

  Alex chewed on that, then dismissed it. ''All right, you said you could send me back. But would you?"

  Jamie didn't move. "I've never tried anything but the forest. 'Tis a fair sight more powerful than that wee ring in the grass."

  "You don't think it would work."

  "Nay, I do not."

  Alex took a deep breath. Well, so much for honesty. "So," he said, letting out his breath slowly, "either I make it on my own, or I don't go."

  "Aye. But consider what you might find."

  "Margaret dead."

  "And Brackwald accusing you of her murder."

  Alex laughed shortly, but he felt anything but humor. "Now, that's the first thing you've said tonight that I've agreed with. He'd do that in a heartbeat."

  "And it isn't as if your King Richard will be about to see the matter settled fairly. If Ralf is as thick with the prince as he appeared, you would find your time as Lord of Falconberg to be very short indeed."

  "Hell."

  Jamie only nodded with a grim look.

  "If only I could get back sooner."

  " 'Tis a big if, brother."

  Alex stood, suddenly. "It may be a big if, but it's all I have."

  "But, Alex—"

  "I won't ask you to do it for me, Jamie. I'll do it myself, tonight. Keep the crew, won't you?"

  Jamie's jaw went slack. "You jest!"

  He shook his head. "They'll be better off here anyway."

  "They won't like it."

  "They might not, but I won't endanger them. You'll see they survive."

  Jamie considered that for a moment, then looked up at him. "How will I account for them?"

  Alex scribbled Tony DiSalvio's number on a scrap of paper. "Call this guy. Tell him who you are, what you need, and that he owes me big. If he gives you any crap, tell him I went on an extended vacation, but left you a key to my safe deposit box and you're on your way to see what's in it. That'll scare him."

  Jamie rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You haven't told me much about your work in New York, Alex."

  "The less you know, the better off you are."

  "Piracy is a messy business."

  Alex snorted. "Tell me about it. Take care of the kids. I think Joel can be bribed with the Claymore and Frances is already hooked on Beth. I worry about Amery, but I can't take him with me. I think he'll be okay with you."

  "And your bard?"

  "Keep him supplied with yarn and you're set."

  Jamie stood, then came and embraced Alex. "I hope you find your heart's desire," he said gruffly. He patted Alex on the back and left the room.

  Alex sighed and shook his head.

  So did he.

  Thirty -four

  The first thing she saw was fire.

  Margaret could see the smoke filling the dawn sky even from the faery ring. She put her heels to her mount's side and raced toward home. Saints above, what mischief was this?

  By the time she could see Falconberg in the distance, all she could see was blackened outer walls and tongues of fire licking them and flicking up into the air. Margaret dismounted in a daze, hardly able to believe her eyes.

  Had we been there, we would be dead.

  The thought occurred to her with a blinding flash. Following hard on its heels was the realization that whoever had done this was likely still in the area. She loosened her blade in its sheath and patted the daggers concealed on various parts of her person. Perhaps she wouldn't live to see sunset, but she'd make certain that many of Ralf's men didn't, either.

  Ralf had to be behind it. She could think of no other who would purposely destroy everything she loved simply to spite her. Everything she and Alex loved, that was. Aye, Alex had loved her land as much as she did. This would have grieved him beyond belief. Perhaps it was for the best that she'd returned alone, though what she now had to return to was very little indeed.

  She crept through the forest, her eyes open and her ears trained to the slightest sound. No birds chirped in the trees above her, but that could have been due to the smell of char that lay thick in the woods.

  She drew up at the edge of the forest and gaped at the sight that greeted her eyes.

  Ralf of Brackwald, a very disheveled and filthier-than-usual Ralf of Brackwald, currently sparred with his brother, whose face was blackened with soot. Edward's clothes hung on him in tatters.

  "It should have been mine!" Ralf
snarled.

  "Richard gave it to Alexander, and there's not a bloody thing you can do about that!" Edward retorted, fending off his brother's attack. "You lost Falconberg and Margaret both."

  "Ha," Ralf sneered. "I daresay I burned the bitch up in her bed, and her foreign lover as well. I barred the doors from the outside and burned up the entire household before they awoke. Think you the king won't award me the lands now just the same?''

  "He won't once I tell him you admitted to the crime."

  "As if you'll have the chance!" Ralf exclaimed, thrusting viciously. "You're just bloody lucky you weren't boarded up inside as well. But no matter. I'll send you to hell just the same."

  Margaret found herself with her dagger in her hand. To be sure, it would have been more fitting to slay Ralf with her sword, but she didn't want to interfere with Edward's battle.

  While she watched, she turned over in her mind what she'd just learned. If Ralf were to be believed, they all thought her dead. She wasn't sure what that might mean to her, but she was sure it deserved more thought.

  Alex's gift of Damascus steel was a pleasant weight in her hand. She held the dagger by the tip of the blade and hefted it a time or two, judging from that what she thought its arc might be and how much strength she might have to put behind the throwing of it. No sense in not being prepared, should she need to fling it.

  Edward was holding up admirably, but Ralf was faring better. Margaret had to admit that, repulsive though he might have been as a man, Ralf was a passing good swordsman. No finesse and certainly no chivalry, but lethal in his brutality.

  She began to see that Edward would not win. Try as he might, the man simply did not have the skill to best his brother. His judgment was faulty, his aim just the slightest bit off. And Margaret could see by his stance that he didn't have what it took, in the end, to finish off the whoreson facing him.

  And just what should she do if Edward failed? Should she finish Ralf herself? He certainly deserved it. He'd slain many of her people and destroyed much of her property. If he lived, he would make the rest of her life hell. Without a keep to hide in, she might very well find herself on the end of his sword.

  She put her shoulders back. She would do the deed herself. Should Edward fail.

  She watched for another handful of moments. And she had to admit to herself that it came as no surprise when Edward found himself without a sword, flat on his back, with his brother looming over him with blade raised. Margaret could only blink at her good fortune, for she had the full breadth of Ralf's back to use as her target.

  "Die, you woman," Ralf snarled.

  The dagger left her hand and flew true, straight into his back, straight into his heart. He stiffened, as if in shock, then whirled around. Margaret pulled back into the shadows, but not before she met Ralf's startled eyes.

  But before he could call out her name, he gurgled his last breath, then pitched forward into the mud.

  Margaret toyed with the idea of striding out from the trees, hauling Edward up by his tunic front, and slapping him for not having learnt his craft better. But before she could do so, a very blackened, very weary George of Falconberg stumbled toward Edward and managed to pull the lad to his feet.

  Margaret felt her eyes burn at the sight of her captain alive still and seemingly unhurt. She watched as George looked at the dagger in Ralf's back, then froze as he recognized it. But before he could reach for it, Edward had snatched it out from the corpse.

  "Oh, gift of life!" he exclaimed. "Sir George, may I keep this as token of your service to me?''

  "Ah...er..."

  "Many thanks," Edward said, slinging his arm around George. "Your dagger is what saved me and I will be forever in your debt. It will always have a place of honor in my house."

  George only grunted. Margaret understood completely.

  "I'm happy to see you alive and well. Now, what of the souls in the keep? Any survivors?" Edward asked.

  "A few," George answered carefully.

  "Lady Falconberg? Lord Alexander?"

  "I think not. We'll need to search a bit more. Perhaps they were out for a brief ride and missed all the excitement."

  Edward coughed, then leaned heavily on George. ''Aye, the excitement of all the murders my brother committed," he said with a deep frown. "By the saints, I cannot help but rejoice that he is dead."

  "My lord," George said, "let me help you to the keep. Then I will return and check the area for ruffians."

  "Aye, who knows who roams the woods in these perilous times?"

  "Who indeed," George said with a grunt.

  Margaret watched them go, then found herself a comfortable tree to wait against. George knew she was nearby and would find her soon enough. Until then, she would give herself over to the contemplation of her situation. There were too many decisions to be made, and the saints surely knew she didn't have enough time for the making of them.

  Falconberg was in ruins. It would take years and more gold than she had at her disposal to see it rebuilt. At least she and Alex had had the sense to hide Ralf's gold in the cellar.

  But that was the least of her worries. Who knew how many souls had perished because of Ralf's treachery? For all she knew, she had no one left to see to, no one left to protect, no one left to lead. How could she defend the land her grandsire had left her if she had no keep? How could she safeguard her peasants if she had no place of refuge for them? It would be kinder to allow Edward to take a stewardship over her land. At least he would have the gold to see to it.

  And what of herself? She had no place to sleep, no place to eat, no place to hide if an army came up against her. She was defenseless and exposed. Indeed, what would she be other than a burden to those around her? And a burden she could not bear to be.

  They thought she was dead.

  Her strand in the twelfth-century fabric of time was ended. For the first time since climbing into Alex's Range Rover, she felt her heart begin to lighten. They thought her dead. And if they thought her dead and she suddenly reappeared, wouldn't that mar the threads of history irreparably?

  Heaven forbid she should do that.

  "Margaret."

  She whirled around to find George behind her. Without thinking, she hastened to him and threw her arms around him. Before she knew it, she had burst into tears.

  "I know," he said, patting her back soothingly. "I know, Margaret. The keep was a fine one indeed."

  She pulled back. "The keep? I was worried for you, you old fool!"

  He blinked, his eyes very white against the sootiness of his face. "For me?"

  "Of course for you!"

  He smiled briefly. "I am singed, but unhurt. I cannot say the same for your hall."

  Margaret shrugged, almost surprised at the ease with which she did it. "Drafty old place. Were the casualties high?"

  ''Unfortunately, aye. Cook and a few of her helpers survived by descending into the cellars, but 'twas no small feat to get them out before the place burned to cinders."

  "And the gold?"

  "Still safe under the salted eels."

  She smiled in satisfaction. "Then I don't regret my knife finding home in Ralf's heart."

  George shook his head. "Nay, you shouldn't. He's done enough damage and hurt to warrant it." He looked around her, then back at her. "I don't see young Alexander."

  "I left him behind."

  "You what?" George exclaimed. "Margaret, what were you thinking?"

  "I thought he would be better off in that future of his," she said defensively. "I was only thinking of him."

  "Aye, and while you were at it, why didn't you think on how miserable he would be?"

  "Well..."

  "Think you he relishes the thought of his entire life without you?"

  "I suppose I hadn't thought—"

  "Aye, I'd say you hadn't thought at all!"

  She stared at him and fumed. "You didn't see what I saw."

  "Nay, but I've heard all about it. Wouldn't you give it up for him?
"

  She rolled her eyes, but found she had no reply for that one. She would have given up the future and everything in it if it had meant she could remain with Alexander of Falconberg and spend every night in his arms.

  George stared at her for several moments in silence. "Can you return to him?"

  She stiffened in surprise at the question. She'd thought it to be simple thing, but she realized she had no idea whether or not such a thing was possible without Jamie.

  "I know not," she breathed. "By the saints, I never thought I'd need to!"

  "Then you'd best give it some thought now."

  "I will. After I've seen things settled here to my satisfaction."

  "There's nothing to settle. They think you perished in the flames."

  She put her hand on his arm. "George, 'tis my land. Land my sire gave to me and his sire to him. I cannot let it fall into ruin."

  "Then give me your list of demands to give to Edward and I'll see them accomplished. I'll say they were your wishes before you died."

  She nodded. ''That is wise. Let us take ourselves off a bit and settle things between us. There is much I must think on." She walked a little ways off and cursed under her breath. "If only Edward hadn't made off with my dagger."

  "I'll see that it has a place of honor in his household," George said dryly.

  "Wonderful," she said with another roll of her eyes. "Well, let us see to the rest of my affairs."

  She said it with a light heart, though in truth her heart was divided by joy and sorrow. She longed to return to Alex, to be sure, but it was a hard thought to think of never seeing her keep again.

  Yet, what was left of her keep to see? An empty, charred shell?

  And who was to say she couldn't see the place again in the future? Perhaps some wealthy soul would have taken it upon himself to put it back to rights.

  Edward, for instance.

  And Alex would surely miss having his title. There was no reason some conscientious soul couldn't stipulate that somewhere in the future the title of earl of Falconberg should be given over promptly to someone who could prove to be a direct descendent of the first earl of Falconberg. Or the earl himself, should he deign to show up in some future century.

  And what a conscientious soul Edward could prove to be.