He laughed. Laughed! “Oh, mistress… you are incredibly amusing. Our monarch at this time happens to be a queen, a woman… for years now, I have watched her play a labyrinthine political game with popes, the State nobility, and even her own Royals. I hold a deep respect for a woman’s mind, however, these forms of address are strictly observed. It is well you should lower your head while addressing Robert, so as not to attract more attention to yourself, which is… I believe… Lady Margaret, the purpose of these late-night exercises.”
Okay, so he had thrown her a little off-balance with that one.
“So… how come you can be in my room this late at night?” Maggie demanded, wanting to change the subject, as she felt herself being drawn back closer to him and she knew that was just plain crazy. It was like he was pulling her into his fantasy.
She was determined to regain the upper hand. “If we’re really in 1598, then I’m sure, late at night, having a male guest in the private room of a woman betrothed to the lord of the manor ain’t exactly kosher.” As her words left her mouth a mixed string of frustration and dread entered her mind. She could not be falling for this guy, or his ridiculous line.
He merely smiled. “Kosher? I do not believe I am familiar with the term.”
“It’s a Hebrew term. It means approved.” Maybe that would jar his memory. She had to convince herself that this boy was in a time warp of his own, and she wasn’t about to go joyriding into that realm. He had to meet her in reality!
He nodded. “I will remember that. Thank you. I have a high regard for certain works that were written by Jewish authors. As for your question, if I understand it correctly, my presence here would be most inappropriate, should anyone, save the good Countess Elthea, have knowledge of it.”
Okay, she had him on this one. “Well, think about it,” she said condescendingly. “What about the servants? Didn’t Elthea say they were paid by Robert for information?”
Wait a minute. Her own words shot back to her. Was she actually buying that there might be some truth to this Monte Python-ish satire-fairy tale after all? Hardly. It was nuts, yet she couldn’t deny that by all appearance, anyone else would say she was living in another time.
“The steward of the household, Evan, is most loyal to Countess Elthea. As for any of the others… Elthea is known to grace the palm with the sweet voice of an angel. I would think most in service here are rightly devoted to the lady of the household.”
All right, it was easier to secede and give him back the upper hand. Nodding, she walking to the table in front of the fire. Pouring herself another cup of ale, Maggie sighed.
“Well, Elthea certainly does have a way about her.” Chuckling, she added, “I guess you could say she has the voice of an angel.”
“I do agree with your observation, Mistress Maggie, though I was alluding to coinage. An angel is a common coin, worth ten shillings. As in any time… gold speaks, or speaks not, as in this case.”
“Interesting… bribes, or angels as you refer to them, come in the form of gold coins here.” Maggie turned and retorted quickly, “But I will agree there is something, well, different, perhaps angelic, about Elthea.” Lowering her voice, she looked sideways to his profile and asked, “Does she really believe she’s a witch? Do you?”
As the effects of the ale crept up on her, Maggie watched him. He seemed to lose himself in the flames that flickered and danced while casting shadows against his incredible face. Maggie felt even more mesmerized as lights seemed to bounce around his blond hair, almost like a halo. She blinked several times to stop the silly notion and waited for his answer.
Fight the feeling, Maggie, she chided herself. He’s no angel.
He continued to stare into the flames, wanting to center himself before he said another word. This woman was throwing his sense of balance into chaos. Ever since he’d met her she had been challenging everything he had learned and thought he knew.
Who was this incredible woman… this desirable creature standing next to him? He felt her gazing with eyes he’d known in all his dreams, now imploring him to answer questions that were better left unanswered.
Oh, how she vexed him.
Only hours ago he had thought her to be of noble birth and promised to his political opponent. Now to find that she was neither fell beyond his comprehension.
Now she was a mysterious goddess from the future.
On one hand, he was in grave danger for the possibility of Lord Amesbury’s discovering he had caused this scandal. Yet, on the other hand, there was a greater danger in the realization he could not deny that this impertinent, incredible vixen was capturing something deep within him.
How improbable was that?
He needed some grounding and wished Elthea were there to assist them both. And now this woman asked a question that demanded integrity to answer….
“Nick…?”
“Aye, I heard your query. A witch? Nay, she is no necromancer. Do I believe Countess Elthea? Most assuredly, I would take to my heart everything she says. The lady is most respected in those areas beyond the physical as well as those taking place in this moment. She is a great teacher.”
“A teacher? With students? I don’t understand.”
“Nor should you be expected to understand. Suffice it to say that Countess Elthea holds her own power in this household and beyond it. You needn’t fear talk of servants for this eve. Nevertheless, I suggest when you feel the desire to express yourself, in an outburst of emotion, you might restrain the impulse… and whisper.” He turned to her and smiled.
Surprisingly, she smiled back. Heavens above, who was this woman who claimed to be from the future? Who, in moments of timeless communication, seemed so familiar? As it was, he himself had trouble concentrating on her words and not the sweet depths of her eyes. He knew those eyes!
“I shall whisper, Nicholas, if thou might stop pounding the floor with thy cane.”
He chuckled. In spite of himself, he liked her bold manner and poured himself another drought of ale. This was a woman who would stand toe-to-toe with a man as his equal. He was shocked to find that appealed to him very much. “Agreed. No more cane stomping. Shall we continue the lessons?”
She held his gaze for a moment too long, until both of them became aware that something was being said without words, they were both learning something, and it was something neither wanted to broach.
“Yes, sure… the lessons.” She backed away from the fire and sat down in her chair. “I shall lower my head when I curtsy to Lord Amesbury.”
“’Tis done, then!”
He replenished their cups.
“But I will not consider him to be above me in station. Just so you know, Nicholas Layton… since I have finally agreed to this crazy role-playing, I will do it the best I can but that doesn’t mean I have to like it or even agree with it. Got it?”
In his entire life, he had never met a more perplexing female or male, for that matter. Not even his teachers in France or Italy confounded him more.
“Got what, prithee?”
She giggled. It was a most enticing sound to his ears.
“Got it… you know, what I just said.”
Now he couldn’t help chuckling at her girlish reaction. She had the most amazing faculty of being a mature, seductive woman, yet maintained the sparkle of innocence. Yes, she would perform well, if given the proper training.
A part of him sobered at the thought of what they were involving her in… the subterfuge to preserve a monarchy and a queen’s promise. He, himself, didn’t quite comprehend how it had all come to sit upon his lap, yet he knew since he and Francis had pledged brethren, his entire life was a continual series of revelations. And now this woman.
“Got it,” he replied in a thoughtful voice.
She smiled at him most warmly, and he emotionally confronted the newest divination in his life… she was not the Lady Margaret about to marry Robert, she was an eligible woman… but tarry his fleeting thoughts… was she? Perchance there was anot
her who laid claim to her heart?
“May I ask about family, mistress? Thy mother and father… ? Siblings? Betrothal? Marriage? Have you no alliances or unions?” Perhaps his true intentions were cloaked well enough.
Her pause and knowing smile made him think perhaps not.
“If you are asking whether or not I am married, the answer is no. I am a free woman and intend to remain so.”
“Ahh,” he mumbled, and nodded, as though in agreement, though he wasn’t at all sure what she meant.
“Free, at least for now,” she added.
“You are free, this moment?” Astonishment flushed through him. “You are otherwise enslaved? I find that highly unlikely, m’lady,” he answered, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Oh, I was enslaved all right… and I am not about to reenter the institution of marriage anytime real soon. I intend to remain free to choose any direction I please… until I find my prince charming.” Her voice held a challenge. “If he even exists…”
It was much clearer now. “I see,” he mused. “Mistress Maggie is her own woman.”
She giggled, again invoking that contrasting innocence. “C’mon, Nick. Please don’t call me Mistress Maggie anymore. Plain old Maggie will do just fine, especially while we’re alone.”
For an instant he was stunned when he felt her hand push playfully on his shoulder.
“I respect your freedom, Maggie, and have no desire to affront your reputation.” He rose and began stretching his sore muscles.
“What reputation?” she asked with a laugh, and poured more ale for them both. “To you I am below your station and my reputation doesn’t really matter. To me, you are playing a role, pretending to be something you’re not, and so your reputation is ludicrous. It seems, Nicholas, we are at a stalemate of reputations. Why don’t we both just relax, since our reputations with each other are shot anyway?” She said the last words with the cup raised to her open lips.
She stood before him in the low fire’s glow and began a slightly seductive sway; her gentle movement mesmerized him. Against an amber glow, her silhouetted form taunted him mercilessly. He knew she was merely lost in thought, yet still his body betrayed him.
He had never in his life experienced such honesty, such frankness, with a woman, especially a woman who was making him think thoughts of such passion that his heart was racing. But he knew Cupid had an ironic sense of humor.
Remain calm, Nicholas, he advised himself. While his heart yearned for his mate, the twin to his soul, and his gaze was openly cast… could it be, this goddess of a woman, slipped through time, only to meet his eyes and challenge everything he believed? His brain ached under the massive concept. Would the universe play such a trick?
He was falling deeper into her soul, and almost groaned as the recognition raced through his body. It couldn’t be… ! All these seasons… and she finally appears? Maggie Whitaker, from the year 2000, about to be taken for Lady Margaret, was the one?
His twin soul? It was too preposterous!
Verily, he mentally admitted to himself, I am bewitched.
“I must take respite,” he murmured, and sank heavily into the chair again.
“Your leg… or the ale?” she asked in an impish voice.
“’Tis neither, Maggie.” He sighed. “I fear, a thing, much more infinite.”
He looked up to her and knew, within everything he held sacred, he was either losing his mind, or this woman had traveled through time to be with him. The ancient manuscripts, which he and Countess Elthea had read, spoke of such miracles. How could he explain this concept to her, when she was uninitiated in the mysteries? It would sound improbable… mad, yet he knew something she didn’t.
He knew it was possible. How Cupid must be laughing.
She felt like a drunken Elaine from TV’s Seinfeld on another date in the Twilight Zone. Here she was, an educated and single woman of the new millennium… okay, so her life in New Jersey was in a small rut… and this whole Renaissance thing was actually beginning to grow on her… No, she halted her thought process. I’m not goin’ there now.
“Umm, what time is it, anyway?” She knew she’d better change the subject quickly.
He looked out to the window and began with great theatrical inflection. “With deep regret, I cannot tell thee that which you wish to know, m’lady… for the light has left the sky, and therefore, I cannot read the sundial.” He turned back to her completely straight-faced.
Then burst out laughing.
“Maggie dear… we are a modern people, as you put it, and indeed, we have clocks which tell of the hour.” His boyish grin beamed at the thrill of his prank.
“Funny, very funny.” She tried to keep a straight face. Laughter spewed forth.
He sighed out of his laugh and settled his tone seriously. “I know not, if there is a clock in this chamber,” he said, glancing around the room. “Perhaps I should request one of the servants to inform us of the hour.”
“Oh no…” she broke in, warning, “No one is supposed to know you’re in here with me, except Countess Elthea, remember?”
“Aye. Indeed, you have a rare clarity of thinking, madam, while you have been drinking.”
Oh, that grin again. Damn. She knew she was getting in trouble now.
Maggie abruptly turned and walked to the window. “It’s getting too hot in here. How do you open this thing?” She cursed under her breath as she dumbly struggled.
“Allow me, Maggie.”
He limped to the window, and when the sensation of his shirt brushing lightly against her shoulder sent shivers down her arms, she had to hold back a moan. She backed away a step and watched him open the window with ease.
“There, m’lady. The breeze is thine.” He gestured for her to sit on the sill, patting the wide gray stones.
Her bulky evening costume made her scoot up awkwardly into the small space. She was glad of the extra padding against the uncomfortable roughly chiseled stones. She inhaled deeply. The sensuous scent of an early-summer night filled her being. Exhaling slowly, she felt the cooling relief caress her heated skin. Crickets stopped singing long enough to allow an owl his solo in the symphony, then began their music again.
It was much more quiet here than at her home in Jersey. It was as though she could hear so much more… but more what? More quiet. Suddenly she realized the modern noises she was beginning to miss were actually assaulting. This was so peaceful.
She leaned her head against the widowsill wall and stared up at the sky.
“The moon is huge… and so many stars…” she marveled. “Mmm, it’s really exquisite here.”
Her sensuous dance with the night was abruptly interrupted with a bang.
“I beg thy pardon, Maggie. I meant not to disrupt thy meditation,” he said, bending over to pick up his cane from the floor.
“Oh, no problem,” she assured him and quickly looked back out the window, hoping he hadn’t seen she’d been startled. “Hey, do you know if people ever told time by the stars?” She thought that might be a possibility, since, in any age, you can’t read a sundial at night. At least it was some conversation to break the embarrassingly silent situation.
His voice was a whisper of introspection. “Ah, ‘time’ you ask. Interesting concept, time.”
She didn’t know if it was the ale or the night, but she giggled. “Yeah, tell me about it!”
“You wish for me to expand on the subject?”
Inhaling deeply of the sweet night air, Maggie closed her eyes, and said, “Sure, why not. I’ve listened to some pretty unusual stuff already. Why should this be any different?”
He paused, and, even though her eyes were closed, she somehow knew he was bringing his thoughts together. She respected that. It was a pretty deep subject not many could discuss… including herself!
For some reason she really wanted to hear this man’s concept of time.
“The Black Plague was instrumental in giving us a sense of time as we know it. Time had al
ways been considered the domain of God before it. People thought of time in terms of day and night, the seasons, eternity. Clocks were not used to measure lives.”
“Some people even sleep with watches, small clocks on their wrists,” she murmured. “Where I come from, everything is regulated by clocks… what time you awaken, how long you cook your food, what time you arrive at work and leave, even our entertainments…”
“’Twould be a slave shackle,” Nick pronounced.
Maggie grinned. “I guess you could say that,” she said, keeping her eyes closed and enjoying the symphony of nature. “I’m sorry. I interrupted. The Black Plague introduced the invention of time. Because of death?”
“Aye. When the laborers were decimated, working hours were extended into the night. ’Twas then clocks and bells began to signal the hours. It was no longer God’s time, but merchants’ time that people lived. Anyone who has spent an hour walking through the woods knows time can expand and appear longer than to someone working an hour in the city. A dream may seem to span many hours but may actually last a few minutes. It is a concept that goes beyond traditional boundaries of time and space into the infinite nature of the divine. There timelessness is experienced.”
“Okay…” Maggie listened, yet most of it was over her head. She could blame it on the ale, but it was the whole concept of time that confused her.
“Therefore, with knowledge of this ‘Invention Of Time by Man,’ traveling through it could be quite probable. Would that not be dismantling our own illusion of time? Would not you agree, Margaret Whitaker?”
She opened her eyes and stared at him. This was getting much too serious. “Hey, if I’m really back in the year 1598, then I’m the queen of time travel, buddy!” she cajoled as she slipped off the windowsill and walked back toward him, playfully pointing her finger. “You oughta be bowing deeply, Master Layton.”
He laughed. “Very well, Lady Margaret.” His eyes were filled with merriment while he struggled into a standing position. He executed a perfectly drawn-out, elaborate, bow.
Sheesh, Baryshnikov had nothing on this guy when he laid it on. She reluctantly admired his grace of performance, especially with a bum knee. Still, he was a bit arrogant. Well, maybe not arrogant, but this superiority thing he was so hung up on could use a bit of balancing.
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