“What is it?” she whispered. “Part of the faire? Wow, you guys get to stay there… ?”
He broke his vow of silence.
“Welcome to your new home, Lady Margaret.”
She turned to stare at him, as though hit over the head with a battle-ax.
“Huh?”
“Your home, m’lady. Greville Manor.” What was wrong with her?
“Okay, look, Nick… Maybe I’m not making myself clear here. I want to get back to my home… you know, back in the real world where there’s air-conditioning and restaurants and phones where I can call for help. Remember the year 2000?”
Nick continued to stare at the woman, thinking Lord Robert of Amesbury was about to get the surprise of his life. Imagine being shackled for life to her! No matter how lovely she appeared, Lady Margaret could drive one mad merely by being in her presence!
The year 2000!
Chapter Five
“Nick?” She stared back at him. “You know what I mean, the modern world? C’mon… enough is enough.” Really, the way this man continued to keep up the pretense of living in Elizabethan times was just ridiculous. Her new home? This castle? She wanted to laugh out loud, yet she felt her irritation momentarily turn to awe as she gazed at the huge picturesque building. It must be a museum, for it was kept in relatively good condition.
“I beg your pardon, m’lady?” He seemed to shake his head slightly while blinking, as though trying to bring some kind of sense into the situation.
Maybe there was hope, Maggie thought, as she waited for him to continue speaking.
“Lady Margaret, I have no knowledge of these modern things you speak of. I can only direct you to Greville Manor, your future home as the new wife of your cousin, Lord Robert. Let us proceed, shall we, after you fulfill your promise to assist righting me upon this saddle… surely, thou would not have me ride up looking like the court jester, would ye?”
She couldn’t believe it. He was still insisting on this charade! “Okay, okay…” she said, exasperated, gathering more of the reins in her hands. “Let’s get you turned around, if that makes you happy, and then I want to talk to someone else; someone who knows this is all a farce.” There had to be someone at historic Greville Manor who wasn’t steeped in this role-playing.
Looking up to him as she clutched the reins in her fist, Maggie directed, “I’ll pull his head down and you swing your leg around. Then you’ll be seated correctly and only out of simple courtesy, for your taking me to some sort of civilization, I will keep this our secret. No one will ever know you rode your horse ass backward. Will that make you happy?”
He stared down at her and Maggie thought he might be tempted to throttle her if he didn’t need her in that moment. Maybe she had pushed him too far, but really… the way he kept insisting that all this Renaissance stuff was real!
“Lady Margaret, that is not the first time you have addressed me as though I am witless. I pray thee caution; do not chastise me a third time.” His statement dropped off in the afternoon air, just as a final command settles an unruly child. He focused his attention away from her and concentrated on shifting his seat while gingerly swinging his injured leg over the horse’s lowered neck.
Maggie watched his determination break a light sweat onto his forehead as he stiffened with pain, closed his eyes briefly—as though accepting it—and continued with what she realized must be a very uncomfortable effort. When he had accomplished his goal, he sat quite still, opened his eyes slowly, and gazed outward, above her. She heard his controlled, heavy breathing amidst the hum of the warm afternoon.
“Are you all right?” Maggie whispered, having to admire the way he handled his pain. Surprisingly, in the midst of the situation, she felt her confusing attraction return. That annoyed her even more than the man.
He stopped what looked like a meditation and, blinking a few times more, as though recalling she was still there, looked down to her.
“Yes. Thank you, Lady Margaret.” He exhaled deeply. “You have been most helpful. We may proceed now.” Inhaling fully, he placed his gaze back upon the hill toward Greville.
Maggie watched as a single bead of sweat trickled down his temple. As he wiped his sleeve against it, his demeanor seemed to soften.
“One might think m’lady would be eager to be rid of such a burdensome stranger.”
Realizing she was still staring, Maggie completely released her hold on the reins as the horse raised its head and began to step on slowly. He must not be too badly injured to keep up this charade, she mused, then turned toward the beautiful castle. Shrugging, she started walking. “Whatever, Nick. I just need to find some help and get back to my aunt.”
“I am sure your aunt, Countess Elthea, will be most pleased and surprised to see thee. Yes… I do believe this advent will cause quite a stir.”
She wasn’t going to answer him. So what if he was devastatingly attractive… nothing he said made sense. Directing herself on, she mentally repeated that all she need do was keep walking to the castle until she met someone who wasn’t dressed four hundred years behind the times, someone who spoke modern English, even if they had an accent, somebody who wasn’t caught up in this revival madness…
Anyone who held even a small concept of reality.
In the distance, she could make out men and women working in fields, some stopping their horse-drawn plows in mid-furrow to watch their approach. She found it amazing that this appeared to be a fully working Renaissance castle. They must have to pay the workers a small fortune to dress up and do work that a modern machine could accomplish in hours. When the British threw a faire, they went all the way, it appeared. She shook the thoughts out of her head and centered on more important ones. All she needed to do was find the manager of the place, get to a phone to call her aunt immediately, and then sanity would return.
Talk about an adventure! She hoped Aunt Edith and Malcolm weren’t frantically searching for her.
The massive edifice once more commanded her attention. “This must have been quite a castle once,” she muttered, breaking her vow of silence.
Impenetrable, large gray stones powdered with lime and thickly covered in ivy and moss loomed more than three stories above them. With both hands, Maggie shielded her eyes from the late-day sun to make out bright crested pennants dancing atop the barbican in the light breeze. Round corner turrets framed the entrance that beckoned with the sound of the hooves stepping across the narrow wooden bridge. This was probably the drawbridge a long time ago, she thought to herself as a cool breeze pulled her attention to the moat below. She saw their reflection interrupted by scattered lily pads on the dark surface, then focusing into the deep, she watched sizable fish dart about. How odd, she pondered, that everything seemed so fresh and clear in this moment, when she thought back to the stifling and hazy morning at the faire. She broke her gaze from the hypnotic water and took a moment to appreciate the artisans who created the ornately hammered black-iron straps adorning the massive arched oak doors that were beginning to squeak open. For an instant, her need to find someone rational was overrun with curiosity that insisted she venture inward to the interior splendor.
He’d given her a moment to admire Greville. “This is not a castle, m’lady. By comparison to thine own holdings, this is but a small manor house.”
She refused to play into his continued rhetoric. “Well, whatever you Brits call it, they keep it in good shape compared to some of the others I saw when we drove through the countryside from the airport.”
“Air… port?”
She wasn’t about to start that conversation again. “Anyway,” she continued, “I need to find someone who knows what’s going on around here, and you need to get your leg looked at,” she retorted, still hoping a little reality would bring him back to the present. “I’ll do the talking once we’re inside…” Her voice trailed off.
A tall, thin elderly man with a black felt cap, its brim folded up above his forehead, appeared. He was dressed in a l
ong dark blue costume, brought tight around his waist by a wide leather belt with a large ring of dangling antique keys. As he pulled back the heavy door to reveal an expansive courtyard garden, Maggie almost gasped at the beauty.
“G’day, m’lord, m’lady,” He spoke with utmost courtesy.
The fragrance of rose filled her senses. Every color dotted the yard at hand height. Someone obviously tended this garden with meticulous purpose, for it was incredibly lovely.
Bringing her attention back to the costumed man at the door, Maggie confidently smiled. “Yes, hello. I’m hoping you can help—”
“Thank you, good gentle man,” Nicholas interjected quickly. “The Lady Margaret has arrived for His Lordship, Robert of Amesbury, and I, Nicholas Layton, have been summoned by the Countess Elthea. Please announce us at once.”
Maggie swung around back to him with her mouth still agape; choking on what she wanted to tell the tall man, and with all the obscenities she could barrage Nick with in that moment.
“Immediately, m’lord,” came a response.
The man trotted across the sunlit garden with the music of his keys jingling as he went toward what appeared to be the museum entrance. Maggie finally managed to blurt, “I can’t believe you said that!”
Another servant instantly came to assist with the horse and, pretending to ignore her, Nicholas began his painful dismount.
Grabbing up her skirt, she hurried around the horse to confront him. “Why are you insistent upon playing this stupid game! I’ve got to get some serious help here…”
“I assure thee, Lady Margaret, momentarily it shall be yours… agh!” He winced as his feet hit the ground.
Desperate for someone—anyone—to understand her plight, she grabbed the shoulders of the young man attending the horse. “Look, where’s your manager… your boss? Tell me, where’s the nearest phone?” Bewildered, the fellow pulled back, as Nicholas nodded to him with a wink.
“Damn it… I saw that, Nick! Stop leading these people into your sick game!” Jerking back to the young man, she pointed to Nick, and insisted, “This man is delusional! He’s fallen off his horse and hit his head. He needs first aid, and I need help getting out of this costume and back to my aunt in Trowbridge. Now please, tell me where the manager or phone is!”
Nearly terrified, the young man’s eyes turned toward Nicholas for reassurance.
“Go on, lad… stable him up for the night, and don’t go heavy on the oats,” Nicholas directed.
The young man quickly walked off, turning to look back just once, and shook his head in disbelief.
“Why are you doing this to me? Is this your idea of a joke?” Maggie demanded spinning around, “This isn’t funny at all! Your entire charade is sick and borders on kidnapping!” Stepping within inches of his face, Maggie forced him to lean against the outer curtain wall. “Listen, buster, I’ve put up with enough of this ancient revival shtick, and now I’m pissed. I had better find a phone and someone from the real world quick if you don’t want major trouble in your life. I have half a mind to press charges against you!”
Breathing heavily, she didn’t give an inch as she stared straight into his clear blue eyes, certain her bravado would intimidate him.
He returned her stare with equal intensity, and she felt it run through her entire body.
“Lady Margaret, I assure you, I am not party to some grand plot against thee,” he stated in a firm and slightly sarcastic whisper. “I fear a far greater force is at work here, for I doubt you have been nipping at the brew, as I can attest through proximity of thy wisp, the bitter fragrance of hops is not detectable. As for explaining what ails thee, I cannot, for it is not of my doing. Perhaps after a rest and a—”
“I don’t want a rest, and I haven’t been drinking, you… you actor!” She interrupted. She was pleased to see that his face held a hint of alarm at her insult and close proximity. She could almost feel her breath bouncing off him as she gritted her teeth, and sputtered, “It ain’t just you and me out in the woods anymore. I’m going to find some real help, and I don’t want you interfering. Keep your mouth shut, until I find someone in authority here. I am going to get out of this madness, one way or another! Do you understand me?” She was breathing heavily from her explosion.
“With all due respect, Your Ladyship, you speak in terms I am not familiar with… quite odd, in fact, and your demeanor is a curiosity which amazes me,” he answered with absolute calm as he continued holding her glare. “And my mind doth ponder if even you comprehend the gibberish that incessantly spews forth.” He tilted his chin up in mock defiance, and continued, “I happen to know exactly where I am, and who I am, and why I am here. Dare I marvel further… can you, Lady Margaret, say the same?”
“Odd? I’m a curiosity? You don’t even know what year it is, Nick!” Maggie blurted.
“If the Gregorians are correct, it is the year of our Lord, fifteen hundred and ninety-eight,” a woman’s voice responded from behind her. “Welcome, dear cousin Margaret.”
Maggie spun around to the voice. Nothing could have prepared her for the stately older woman. Long, platinum white hair was braided and coiled round her ears, and she stood erect, dressed in a long-sleeved gown of emerald green velvet adorned by ornate gold piping forming a V atop her hands, which she held out in welcome. Stunned, Maggie could only stare as the woman came closer and smiled warmly.
“Dear child, have you met with some tragedy upon your travels?” The woman’s clear hazel eyes quickly darted beyond her guests. “Where is your entourage? Your servants and guards?”
There were no words, Maggie thought, to describe what she was feeling as she instinctively returned the offer of her hands to accept the welcome. It was too incredible. Whoever this woman was, she did a near-perfect imitation of her Aunt Edithe’s voice, right down to the soothing tones and the endearment. She felt a wave of dizziness as she tried to comprehend what was happening, and, letting go of the woman’s hands, Maggie took a deep steadying breath.
“Dear Nicholas… prithee, tell me what is transpiring here, for my beloved cousin appears to have happened upon most unfavorable circumstances. What grave misfortune has befallen the Lady Margaret?”
Maggie could only watch, dumbstruck and mute, as Nicholas hobbled forward and bowed before the woman.
“Greetings, Countess Elthea, I am most humbly at thy service and indeed, regret to inform thee, thy cousin has suffered a mishap of some kind, which she has been unable to explain to me. When I came upon the Lady Margaret, she was running from the woods…” he paused, “having endured a bit of a fright. ’Twas then we suffered a mutual misfortune whence my steed deposited me upon my path.”
Countess Elthea drew in her breath and began in a calm command, “You are both injured then and must receive attention forthwith.” She turned to the tall man who had opened the door, and added, “Evan, please assist Master Layton and instruct Mary to prepare Lady Margaret’s chamber at once, thank you. I shall arrange for the physician to be summoned.” She looked back to Maggie, placed her arm around her waist, and smiled. “We weren’t expecting you until week next, but rest easy, child…. You are safe now.”
Before this travesty continued one moment further, Maggie spun from the woman’s embrace and threw out her hands to halt everyone. She began in an exaggerated and slow tone. “Ev-er-ry-bod-dy, hold it… okay… let’s all calm down and attempt to communicate reasonably. This man”—she pointed to Nicholas—”this man insists on role-playing, as do all of you, I see. However, I am not part of this Renaissance revival. I only went to the faire to please others. I got lost in the maze and then he and his horse attacked me and then—”
“I beg thy pardon, my horse did not attack the Lady Margaret. She ran out of the woods shrieking,” he continued with a stammer, “… as, as though the hounds of hell were after her and—”
“And then,” Maggie regained the advantage after giving Nick a stern warning glare, “I helped him back up on his horse, because
he hurt his knee when he fell, but then I realized my pearls were lost somewhere in the woods, maybe in the maze, and this guy”—she pointed again to Nicholas—”practically drags me here to this museum, promising I can find someone in authority who will help me get back to the Renaissance Festival to find my aunt so I can just go back to a quiet day picking roses in Trowbridge and end this entire trip into Bizarro World!”
The group stared at Maggie, all looking quite dazed.
She drew in an exaggerated deep breath, and added, “May I please speak to the manager of this place? I need a telephone, a car… just some way back to the real world”
Breaking what seemed an eternal silence, the woman named Elthea abruptly turned her attention to Nick.
“What madness has befallen my cousin?” Elthea blinked suddenly.
Maggie didn’t give Nick time to answer. “I am not mad. I am lost! And I am not your cousin. Look, you seem like a nice lady, but my aunt Edithe, who lives in Trowbridge, is probably very worried about me, so may I just speak to someone in authority please?”
“Authority?” the Countess Elthea repeated, turning to Maggie. “Dear cousin, pray tell, have you gone absolutely adrift of your senses?” Her brow furrowed slightly. “Your cousin, Robert, is the lord and thereby sole authority on these lands. He is ultimately responsible for everyone. Surely one knows that by right of his birth he represents Her Majesty the Queen in all matters.”
“Ooh-kay, so where is this guy?” Maggie interrupted, preferring not even to ask questions about the rest of this woman’s words.
Countess Elthea clasped her fingers together, trying to maintain her composure. “Why, Lord Robert is hunting at the moment. He’s taken his falcons this morning and is expected back before our evening meal. He, as I, never expected your early arrival, cousin.”
“I’m sure,” Maggie muttered, blowing a stray lock of hair away from her eyes. “And there’s no one else in charge around here? Nobody I can ask what the hell is going on, or why I can’t seem to find anyone who isn’t part of this Renaissance madness?”
Once and Forever Page 7
