Alex nodded again. "They were a wedding gift to my parents from Basil’s father and mother. Do you like them?”
"I love them." She stroked them and started to rewrap them in their protective fleece.
"Leave them out. We'll have a private toast later."
She pressed her cheek to his. "Thank you for a wedding beautiful beyond my imagination."
"I wanted to please you.” Alex extended his hand. “Come, they’ll be missing us.”
They joined the rest of the guests at the steps of the Keep. “Welcome to the family, dear sister.” Feminine arms hugged her as they entered the banquet.
Shakira let Madeline lead her along as she watched Alex walk ahead, flanked by Basil and Hugh. He may not love her yet, but he would. She’d make him love her, no matter where they were in time.
Chapter Thirty-Six
"Uh-oh," Stephen pointed a wet arm toward the center of the bailey. "I think your lady wife is in need of a rescue."
"What?" Alex flipped his damp hair back and continued to rub himself dry. Drenched in sweat after practice in the lists and immune to the bite of crisp fall air, both men had dumped a bucket of water over themselves.
"See for yourself. That ham-fisted miller, Butterfield, has her engaged in a heated argument." Stephen slung the drying cloth over his shoulder. "Should I see what the trouble is?"
"Wait," Alex said, amused as Shakira gave Butterfield an earful. "I have every confidence in my wife. About now, he's probably wishing he never said anything but ‘yes milady.’ In fact, I'll place a wager on her."
"I don’t know. The old windbag can talk the bark from a tree if he thinks it is to his advantage."
"You were in court the day she challenged Dankworth's testimony. Do you think a dim-witted knave like Butterfield can best her?"
"His words aren’t worrisome, but he hates to be gainsaid. You know the fool’s temper."
"As long as he remains on the cart and she's on the ground he can't get to her, not before I kill him anyway." Alex threw the offhand comment out, but watched the activity with a sharp eye. "Will you wager or no?"
Stephen shook his head no.
Shakira pointed to a sack on the ground and then to some spilled flour on the cart. She grabbed a handful from the sack by her feet and held it up to Butterfield before flinging the powder away.
Alex and Stephen exchanged a humorous glance. "Not looking good for the miller," Alex said and added, "She's battle ready now. Hands on the hips, feet planted."
"And giving him a litany of her grievances from appearances," Stephen said.
Butterfield stirred a flurry of flour into the air as he stomped closer to Shakira.
Alex raced over as she grasped the edge of the cart and tried to scramble up, her effort hampered by her heavy skirts.
"Shakira..." He hooked an arm around her waist and hauled her out of harms way. "Stay off there. What is this about?"
"He--" She pointed an accusatory finger in the miller's direction. "He's been selling us this...this, bug infested, gritty meal and charging us for the best," she said and pointed to the bag on the ground. Her head snapped back around, narrowed, angry eyes raked the offender, "Bloody, buggery, bastard."
Alex burst out laughing.
"It’s not funny. He’s a crook and I'll prove it. Richard, bring the account books, please." The steward's bemused grin evidence he enjoyed the drama as much as everyone else.
"See." She flipped through several pages of kitchen records, the order and payment figures. "He charges us top price but delivers this, this, stuff, that's comparable to mortar. As it happened, Richard and I were here waiting for him, all set to complain about our bread tasting like sand. While the buffoon delivered the usual rubbish to us today, he accidentally knocked over a sack of the good flour. Anybody with eyes can see the difference in texture."
Alex walked to the bag on the ground and rubbed the powder between his fingers. Then, he hopped into the cart and repeated the action with the spilled meal.
"Milord?" The miller retreated to the wagon's far corner, his stricken face at the fraud's discovery.
"What do you think is a suitable punishment?" Alex kept his back to Butterfield and ignored the miller’s feeble attempts to interrupt him. Shakira would decide the cheat's fate. He brought her into the decision process to publicly reaffirm her position as chatelaine and authority in household matters.
"For one year we should receive the quality flour at the lowest rate. Plus, a free sack is to be given to each family in the village at the Yuletide and Easter."
The crowd cheered.
"'Tis an outrage!" Butterfield stepped away from the corner as he sputtered his protest. "One year of my best for a pittance and so many free sacks to the village? The woman would make a pauper of me."
"Perhaps, you're right. There is another option. I can try you as a thief and from the evidence find you guilty. You are aware conviction means eviction from my land." Alex circled the offender. "I hear the miller from Harescombe was burned out and needs work." The threat silenced any counter argument.
"One more thing--" Alex jumped down, taking the linen Jared offered to wipe his boots. "Be warned Butterfield, my wife is Lady Shakira, not 'the woman’. Remember your place."
The miller surrendered the bags of better flour and loaded the rejected sacks onto the wagon. He rumbled out of the bailey to the jeers and stones from several young boys.
Alex took Shakira aside. "Has anyone ever told you how sexy you are when you’re in high dudgeon?" He tapped the end of her nose, playfully. "That said, arguing with a fool like Butterfield is one thing. Climbing onto his cart and within arm’s reach is another. His sort has no qualms about hitting a woman. Only here, he wouldn’t be assaulting my mistress or the king’s ward. He’d be abusing my wife. Here, I am both judge and jury. His punishment is mine to decide and administer. Enough said?"
She nodded.
"Now, come with me." Alex slid an arm around her waist.
"I like your description of my mood, high dudgeon. It's cool, in an old world kind of way. Where are we going?"
"I’ll send for a clean shirt and your cloak. We're going to ride to the rock. I've a feeling, call it a sixth sense, this is our lucky day."
"I'd never imagined you buying into any sort of woo-woo type of sentiment. Have you experienced ESP before?"
"Once."
"When?"
"At Poitiers."
"How interesting."
"Not really. I apparently suffered temporary psychic dyslexia interpreting it."
"What happened?"
"I had the distinct feeling I would survive." He tried to keep a straight face and couldn't.
"You are so unfunny."
The cook, delighted with the outcome of the flour incident, insisted on packing a light meal for their ride. Shakira utilized the basket filled with cheese and apples to hold some seasonal wildflowers she gathered on the way.
They tied the horses and sat propped against the stone, snacking and talking about everything except the portal. Superstition wasn't part of either's makeup. But in this one area, they mutually agreed to keep negative comments out of their conversation for fear of jinxing their chances.
"Did you hear that thunder?" Shakira turned in the direction of the low rumble.
"I heard. Let’s go before the storm catches up to us."
Alex stood and offered her a hand. She didn’t move but continued to watch the horizon.
"What are you looking for?"
"Lightning or some red in the sky."
"I don’t see either, just the usual grey clouds. If lightning does start, we shouldn’t be out here. Come on, tomorrow's another day."
“Wait,” Shakira said, after they rode a short distance. “I forgot my basket of flowers, they’re the last of the season.”
“Forget the flowers. Lightning has started and the storm’s headed for us,” Alex said.
“I’ll only take a minute.”
“Are
you trying to get incinerated? Let’s go.”
High up, lightning flashed in rapid bursts and then suddenly stopped.
“It’ll be okay. There’s a break in the lightning and I’ll only be a moment.” She ignored his irritated expression and rode off before he could protest further.
“I couldn’t find the basket,” she said, cantering back over to Alex.
“The wind probably blew it away.”
“I searched all around.”
“No loss, let’s leave before we’re drenched,” Alex said.
***
They found the bailey a hive of activity when they returned. Now what? Alex wondered with mild irritation as strange knights in the king’s livery handed their horses off to the stable boys. In the background, kitchen staff yelled orders to servants who darted back and forth from various storage sheds.
He dismounted and handed Thor’s reins to one of the older stable boys. “What’s this?” he asked Richard who’d rushed over.
"Milord, John Holland, his sister, and a score of knights, are staying the evening. They’re bound for Chester on king’s business. Why the sister came, I’ve no idea." He cocked an annoyed brow at the hustle and bustle of people. Richard considered anyone who didn't live at Elysian Fields and spent the night a nuisance. They disrupted his meticulous routine.
"Is that all?" From his steward’s pinched expression, Alex figured there was more.
"The Lady Blanche has asked to use your chamber. I suspect this will be troublesome for Lady Shakira." His expression said he knew troublesome was an understatement.
"You’ve the right of it there."
Detained by the cook, Shakira joined them at the tail end of the conversation. "What will be troublesome for me?"
Alex dismissed the stressed steward. "Blanche Holland is here with her brother and wants to use our chamber--"
"What--no, absolutely not," Shakira snapped with a determined shake of her head. "I know her type. She wants to snoop through our things. I'm sure she's peeved you didn't marry her." Shakira’s anxious tone grew heated. "Who knows how vengeful she is? She can turn a small find into a big deal."
"The chest is locked. It doesn’t matter if she snoops. John's an important personage. Protocol dictates he’s entitled to our finest chamber. A courtesy we should extend to his sister, to keep him happy."
"I hate the idea of her sleeping in our bed."
"One night," he said and walked his testy wife into the hall, "what harm can she do in a night?"
Chapter Thirty-Seven
"This is the reason you wanted to use our chamber, the bathing tub?" Shakira raised a skeptical brow. "A tub is a tub."
"No, this one has a liner. Guy mentioned it to John when you came to court. He said he had your smithy build a liner that retained the heat and didn't leak."
"Guy said he had the blacksmith make this?"
"Hmmm...hmmm." Blanche eased into the tub with an almost sexual moan as she immersed herself all the way. "Oh yes, this is much better than sitting on rough wood."
Shakira excused herself and started to leave.
Blanche angled her head Shakira’s direction and looked up and down. "Forgive me if I stare. I’m perplexed. You’re not beautiful, and I’m sure you’re older than me by at least five summers. Guy gave up so much to marry you. I'm trying to understand why."
The comment stopped Shakira mid-stride. The time for extended courtesy to a guest just expired. Assessing grey eyes met sly green ones. "Let me guess. You're the 'so much' he gave up when we married?"
"Yes. I've many friends at court, marrying me would’ve benefited him well. Plus, I have an excellent dowry. More to the point, our union wouldn't have put him at risk."
"Are you suggesting our marriage is a threat to him in some way? How?"
"I can't believe you're asking that question. Of course, his safety is in jeopardy now." Blanche's scrutiny no longer held jealous snobbishness. This time it was inquisitive, searching. "You don't know, do you? Guy didn't tell you. Always the gallant, he spared you the ugly truth."
Shakira speculated how much of the statement, if any, was true, or if the Blanche was simply baiting her. The attorney in her rarely accepted such bold declarations as valid. She wanted to dismiss the comment as bluff and bluster and leave. But if Alex was in danger because of their marriage, she needed to know.
"Why don't you tell me? Clearly, you're desperate to."
Blanche lathered her arms and legs with soap she’d brought from London. With minor effort, her soap worked up a much better froth than what Shakira and Alex used. It was one more thing about Blanche that grated on Shakira’s nerves.
"If Guy married me, the king would've put him in charge of the Southern Welsh Border and the Bristol Channel. He'd remain here for the duration of the campaign. Since he insisted on marrying you, the king will give the border protection to another favorite. He’ll order Guy to accompany the army."
With a cat that ate the cream smile, Blanche turned her attention to rinsing off. "My brother says the king expects fighting will be fierce and bloody."
Blanche stood and poured ewers of clean water over her hair and shoulders. A chore she didn't normally do for herself judging from the water she splashed everywhere.
Tempted to slap the smirk off the slag's face, Shakira walked over to the pile of clean linens instead. "You don't know my husband. He's not the sort to stay behind when his closest friends go into battle. It’s called honor, a quality beyond your understanding."
Gooseflesh dotted Blanche’s arms to Shakira’s delight as she toyed with the cloth, swinging it back and forth from her fingertip.
"You should aim lower when you marry, someone easily amused, a handsome half-wit of some kind.” Shakira balled up the towel and threw it at the incensed Blanche who was too busy caterwauling to catch it before the cloth fell into the bath water. "Oops."
"Bring me another."
"I don’t think so."
"You-you cannot treat me like this. I shall tell my brother. Now, hand me that towel."
Shakira glanced at the second towel on the chair. "Get it yourself," she said and unlatched the window, opening it wide to the fall breeze. A petty but enjoyable act.
"The evening meal will be served in one hour," Shakira said, humming as she left, drowning out Blanche's angry sputtering.
Shakira slammed the door of Madeline’s old solar, the temporary chamber she and Alex shared. The room was half the size of theirs and claustrophobic with clutter. Alex had converted it to an office for Richard after Madeline married. With John and Blanche using the bigger chambers, a bed had been hastily set up in this one leaving little space for nervous meanderings.
She paced using the ten steps allowed her in each direction. Roller-coaster emotions threatened to overrule straight analysis. Force of will alone, kept her calm.
Think.
If they returned to their own time before the yuletide, no worries, if not, either Guy or Alex would die in battle. It had to be Guy. Didn’t it? No one reported seeing Guy since Alex arrived. Alex felt they couldn’t exist together but he didn’t know for certain. She couldn’t deal with that conundrum now or her head would explode. She concentrated on escape plans. She stopped and stared at the beamed ceiling. Where? Where could they run and hide from the king? Wales was closest. They could live in the forest or a village in the mountains. Welsh was a very difficult language. The thought of how long it would take to learn briefly danced across her mind.
She sat on the edge of the bed and spoke aloud. Her scared self threw ideas out, bouncing them off her imaginary, logical self. "What if something goes awry and the king’s men catch us?”
Think; work the problem like a jigsaw, piece by piece.
“First, I need to verify if what muffin head said is true.” If it is and I’m no longer in the picture...
Her heart sank at logic’s rational answer.
He'll be in the king's good graces again. The king might still be persuaded to le
t Alex stay behind and guard the border.
Hateful as the prospect was, to save Alex, she could face being lost in the wrong time and alone, but how could she face the heartbreaking possibility of losing him? "What will I do?"
A crushing solution came to her.
Whatever is necessary so he lives.
***
John Holland, his hateful sister, and their party departed the next morning. Alex left at the same time with Stephen to settle a dispute between two tenant farmers. The one man Shakira knew who’d be brutally honest with her stayed behind.
"Simon." She jogged to catch up with the knight. "Where are you going right now?"
"The stables. Did you need something milady?" His lips thinned in a painful excuse for a smile that bore no resemblance to the one he gave Alex when he mentioned Basil’s ladies.
"I need to speak to you alone."
He darted furtive glances to the right and left as if seeking rescue. They’d never engaged in private conversation.
"It concerns Guy."
She couldn’t guess what he imagined she wanted to discuss, but his relief at the mention of Guy was obvious. The flustered search for an avenue of escape faded as he considered the immediate area.
"The stable is a poor choice for conversation. I'm baffled as to a suitable location that won’t compromise your reputation."
"In full view of everyone's eyes, yes, but out of earshot. What about the steps of the chapel," she suggested.
"Good choice, it's generally avoided during the week."
It’s generally avoided on Sunday too, she thought.
Simon stopped one step below her on the church stairs. “You wished to discuss Sir Guy, milady?”
"Is it true the king would've had him remain here to guard the Bristol coast and the Welsh border if we hadn't married?"
His posture changed from casually professional—for Simon-to one of a soldier at attention. “Why do you ask me this, ‘tis a question for your husband?"
Journey in Time (Knights in Time) Page 19
