A Knight in Central Park

chapterTwenty-Three

There is only one happiness in life, to love and be loved.

—George Sand

Alexandra filed through the dimly lit corridors, trying to keep up with the musicians carrying lutes and horns. Sebastiano had been elated to learn that the King of England had only just arrived. Sebastiano had sprung into action and convinced the man in charge of entertainment that he and his entourage were a well-known traveling act, and in letting their small group join them, they would surely be swamped with engagements thereafter.

Worry gnawed at Alexandra’s bones, afraid they might be found out and thrown in the dungeons along with her sister. Alexandra let the musicians pass her by as she wondered what was keeping the others. Her heart raced. If they were caught, all would be lost. The four of them, Joe, Garrett, Sebastiano, and Alexandra, were to meet at the stage entrance. While she waited, she admired the many wall hangings and elaborate decorations; tapestries rich in color and detailed with images of biblical stories and lush landscapes. Large bouquets of white and wine colored roses with sprigs of heather had been carefully placed in iron wall vases.

In all her life, she’d never seen such splendor. She could only pray that such a well-kept castle meant that her sister had been treated with the same care. The sudden quiet alerted her to the fact that the musicians she’d been following had all but disappeared.

Only one man stood waiting...a familiar man in unusual clothing. She smiled demurely as she approached the most handsome of troubadours. The tall, dark and handsome man with roguishly good looks did not appear at all amused. “Ari’s clothes were bad enough, but this,” Sir Joe said with arms held wide, “is just not me.”

Alexandra smiled as she spied him at closer view in all his regal splendor. Upon his head sat a small soft-crowned hat with upturned brim and an ostrich plume that fell to the side. A spectacular and heavily embroidered doublet enhanced his broad shoulders and narrow waist, and the skin tight hose revealed enough of him to make her cheeks warm with color.

“If you keep gawking at me in such a way, my lady, I might be compelled to sweep you into one of these darkened alcoves and have my way with you.”

“Methinks you are a scoundrel.”

He leaned closer. “Methinks you are a seductress.”

“Have you wanted me?” she asked boldly, her gaze on his. “Since that night we shared such intimacy, have you but once thought of taking me into your arms and carrying me to your bed?”

Sir Joe did not appear taken aback by her bluntness, nor did he look away or change the subject as she thought he might. In fact, he lifted a hand to her face, and surprised her when he spoke, his voice filled with emotions. “You know I have, Alexandra. I never wanted to be just your friend. Friend and lover, yes,” he amended, his thumb smooth against her jaw. “But never just your friend.” He stepped closer, took her in his arms, and brought his lips to hers. She’d scarcely seen this amorous side of him, and she well liked it. She curled her arms about his neck, wishing the kiss could linger on forever, but it wasn’t to be.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, they reluctantly parted. Sebastiano and Garrett quickly approached, setting her cheeks to flushing at being so openly brazen. Sir Joe said quickly into her ear, “Nothing short of three kids, a toothache, and your being kidnapped by the king’s men could have stopped me from seeking you out, I swear.”

She smiled before they turned to greet the others. It was good to know he wanted her.

“Well,” Sebastiano said cheerfully, “I see the wandering troubadour has found our monastic maiden.”

Joe looked at Alexandra, noticing for the first time her long gray robes and plain wimple.

“The story you will tell on stage has to do with a troubadour’s love for a nun,” Sebastiano announced.

“There’s no need for us to go on stage,” Joe told Sebastiano. “After the musicians begin we can quietly disappear and spread out in search of Mary.”

“We cannot,” Sebastiano replied. “I promised the head musician we would go on stage first so as to give them time to set up. They are even now waiting for us to appear. Besides, you will be assured a good look at the audience while you are on stage. Signal me if you see anything of a suspicious nature.”

“Did you warn the king?” Alexandra asked Sebastiano.

Sebastiano shook his head. “They would not allow an introduction, I am afraid, and my orders were to relay the message to no one other than the king himself.”

“I’m no actor,” Joe said worriedly. “I can’t go out there. This will never work.”

Sebastiano gave Sir Joe a friendly pat on the back. “The ladies will be enamored by such fanciful garb and will care not about the manner in which you speak the written words.”

Clearly, Sir Joe was uncomfortable with his allotted role in Sebastiano’s plans.

“Forbidden love,” Sebastiano went on hurriedly, “is the root of the story we will be telling this day. A love frowned upon by all except the two people in the midst of love’s eternal control. Two people from two different worlds some might say.”

As Sebastiano rambled on, Alexandra found her attention focused on Sir Joe’s profile as she wondered if he too noted the correlation between Sebastiano’s tale and their lives.

“Alexandra,” Sebastiano scolded, making her cheeks flare, “are you listening to a word I am saying?”

“She is too busy staring at the troubadour,” Garrett said with a tad less bitterness than usual.

“I am not staring at the troubadour. ’Tis a ridiculous notion and methinks Garrett’s injury has affected his sight. Now Sebastiano,” she beseeched, “please continue.”

“As I was saying...the troubadour professes a life of wandering the world in search of knowledge, while the woman he loves has only just vowed to serve God for all eternity. And yet now, with their love blossoming, neither can bear to part, for they have found a love so powerful, so rich, that neither can imagine life without the other.”

“How does the tale end?” Alexandra asked.

Sebastiano clapped Sir Joe on the shoulder and said, “’twill be up to our wandering troubadour to decide, for I had not enough time yester eve to write the ending. Here,” he said, handing Sir Joe a rolled parchment, “Improvise.”

Joe took the paper, unhappy with Sebastiano's crazy plan. “You owe me for this and twice more for this ridiculous outfit.”

Sebastiano grinned from ear to ear. “You look most handsome in those tights. I knew the costume would suit you well. Now come,” he said, pulling Alexandra’s hand, “we must join the musicians while these two wait for their introductions. The King of England is waiting.”

After Alexandra’s gray skirts disappeared through the heavy curtains, Joe prayed things would go well and that her identity would not be discovered before they found her sister.

Garrett snorted.

“What now?” Joe asked.

Garrett shrugged. “For a man who does not like her much, you certainly fret over my sister.”

“I never said I didn’t like her.”

“Then why are you going to leave her?”

“Because this isn’t where I belong. We’re from two different worlds. It could never work.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have responsibilities back home. And even if I didn’t...” Joe stopped when he saw Garrett giving him the same damned look that Sebastiano had given him two days ago. The kid’s steely gaze pierced into him, curious, waiting, making him feel guilty of all things. Joe was doing all he could. Damn if he’d be made to feel guiltier than he already felt. “There are certain things people get used to in my world,” Joe told Garrett.

“What sort of things?”

“Just things. Once a man gets used to those things, it’s difficult for a man to go backwards in time and suddenly not have those things. Do you understand?”

“I see that Sebastiano was right,” Garrett said.

“Why? What did Sebastiano say?”

“He said that it was a shallow man who picked material possessions or ambition over love; a man lacking depth of character, a superficial man who sees compromise as a weakness and acceptance as fear. To a man like this...like you,” Garrett amended, “loving another unconditionally would soon yield you powerless.”

Joe eyed the boy skeptically. “How old are you?”

“Two and ten.”

“And Sebastiano told you all of that?”

Garrett nodded, a smug look upon his face.

“And you believe him?”

Again Garrett nodded.

“Well, it’s not true. I don’t have to defend myself to you or anyone else. But I’ll tell you this, kid. I’m going back to my time because that’s where I belong. It’s my home.”

The music had stopped and they both listened for a few seconds as Sebastiano began his introductions.

“I’m sorry your father left to go to war,” Joe went on hurriedly, “but I can’t stay and take his place, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“You are an ass,” Garrett said without the usual childish snort, “and you do not know anything about me. My father left because he thought himself a failure. Because we did not always have food on the table, he thought we would all begin to look at him differently. He failed to grasp that we loved him no matter how much food he brought home at the end of the day. I do not blame myself for his leaving. He had no choice. I only wish I had told him I loved him before he left to do the King’s bidding.” Garrett narrowed his eyes. “Do not presume your feet are big enough to fill someone else’s boots, for they are only as big as your heart.”

Garrett walked away, leaving Joe feeling like a jerk, a certifiable, selfish jerk. The kid was tougher than he looked, and a lot smarter, too.

Joe shook his head, hurrying to catch up to the boy after he heard Sebastiano call out, “And here he is, I well promise you this time, the wandering troubadour from Toulouse.”

Something fell to the floor, but Joe didn’t have time to glance over his shoulder to see what it was. Besides, he and Garrett were already on stage and the curtains had long since risen.

Garrett took to the stage like a bee to honey, bowing stiffly, despite his well-bandaged injury, and smiling, of all things. Joe had yet to see the boy smile, but damn if Garrett wasn’t doing it now, grinning from ear to ear, his eyes sparkling as if he’d been born to be on stage. When the clapping finally died down, Joe reached into each of his shirt pockets and came out empty handed. He’d lost the script.

He looked to the audience, taken aback by the eclectic array of colors and design. The castle itself was grand, but seeing the people of this time, not actors and actresses, but true nobility, was simply incredible. The ladies wore conical headdresses and veils with wire support. Dresses were either heavily embroidered or of fur-lined silks. Sparkling gemstones, necklaces and brooches abounded, even their belts were adorned with jewels. Ermine and sable-lined cloaks kept the ladies warm.

And then Joe saw him...the King of England...it was difficult not to stare. King Henry VII in the flesh. The first of the Tudor dynasty. The king’s complexion appeared sallow set against the crimson velvet of his fur-trimmed hat. Compared to his unborn son, the future King Henry VIII, this King of England was slender. His face looked cheerful though, despite the small blue eyes and poor, blackish teeth that showed clearly when he smiled.

A loud cough drew Joe’s attention to the side curtain where Sebastiano was urging him to say something, anything.

Joe looked over at Garrett and threw his arms out in wide, exaggerated hopelessness.

Garrett stepped forward and said, “Knights and Ladies, Kings and nobleman. ’Twould seem this tale begins, as you can see, with one lone man, a desperate man some would say, who cannot, as hard as he tries, find his way without his life map. Hardly more than a piece of worn parchment this map, but not to this man. To this lonely soul ’Tis much more than that.”

Garrett paced the stage with a stiff bounce to his gait.

“This life map,” Garrett continued, “has become the unyielding goals of a man who does not realize that sometimes one’s destiny is stronger than one’s dreams.”

Joe shook his head and said to the audience, “The narrator is a fool.”

Hoots and titters sounded from the back of the growing assembly.

“And if that be the case,” Garrett said gleefully, looking intently into the faces of the young ladies upfront, “would the audience agree that he who speaks to a narrator is even more the dressmaker’s dummy?”

Great gales of laughter erupted as the men clapped their hands and the ladies murmured to one another their agreement.

Joe cocked a brow, deciding two could play this game. “The boy is right when he calls this troubadour a fool, for it is well known by many that the only reason this wandering troubadour is here at all is because of a promise.”

Joe raised a hand high and squished his forefinger and thumb together. “A very small, simple promise,” he added before dropping his hands to his sides. “Not a promise declared emphatically, but one whispered in a moment of great weakness.”

“But,” Joe stated loudly before Garrett could say another word, startling a few ladies in front, “a promise all the same. What the narrator tends to forget as he and the troubadour roam from castle to castle to tell their tale, is that the troubadour could find his way much faster without a petulant, irritable narrator forever at his heels...like a shadow, but not quite, because the shadow has no voice and it minds its own business.”

“What the ridiculously garbed goliard does not realize,” Garrett cut in with exaggerated glee, “as he spends most his time arguing with his shadow, is that he is in love. And that, my friends, is the crux of this story.”

Even the King of England seemed to be enjoying himself and all was going smoothly until Joe recognized the paid assassin near the back of the hall. A dark hood shadowed his face, but the cruel scar across his chin along with his bulkiness was hard to miss.

While Garrett introduced Alexandra as a young woman who had grown up in the nunnery, Joe glanced toward Sebastiano, gesturing with his chin toward the hooded figure in the back.

Alexandra came onstage, her face covered by a veil. She sat on a stool that had been left for just that purpose. Joe went to her, his back to the audience.

“What is it?” Alexandra asked in a whisper as Garrett held the audience entranced with his recounting of the troubadour and the nun’s first meeting.

Before Joe could answer her, all was quiet again as the audience waited to hear the rest of the tale. Joe turned to Garrett, thanking him for his most interesting of introductions and then tapped his nose to his finger, a signal they had rehearsed before hand, telling Garrett it was time for him to run off and find his sister, Mary.

When Garrett hesitated in leaving the stage, Joe smiled inwardly at the sparkle in Garrett’s face as he took a bow and then another, the crowd thundering their approval before he made off.

“My lady,” Joe said, kneeling down on bended knee after all had quieted again. “I wish you were not hidden beneath that veil, for then you might see the man who tried to kill your brother.”

“Is he here?” she asked.

Joe breathed a sigh of relief to know she understood. “Aye, he has come and I fear for your life.”

“Do not fret, my love, for as long as you are at my side, I am safe. Besides, I could dare not part until I hear you say that which you feel in your heart.”

This was ridiculous! Joe stood, tugged at her arm, but she wouldn’t budge.

The audience laughed at her stubbornness.

He gazed down at her with a frosty glare, but she wasn’t looking up at him at all. Instead she was admiring his silky hose and whatever else happened to be at eye level. He rolled his eyes and even covered his lower anatomy with his cloak to the delight of the crowd. “Do you mean to tell me that you understand what I’m saying...” He waved toward the audience. “That there is a killer amongst us and yet you care not that you may be in grave danger, but instead only wish to hear me say what? That I love you?”

The women in the audience nearly swooned with romantic delight.

Alexandra lifted her chin defiantly. “How very receptive you are to a woman’s true meaning.”

“For the love of God,” Joe said, fully exasperated. “If I declare such words as you wish to hear, will the fair maiden then seek cover?”

“Of course, but not until said troubadour is back on bended knee as the script calls for.”

Teeth clenched, he fell to his knee with a thunk.

The crowd roared its approval as Joe grabbed her hand and brought it close to his chest. “My heart beats only for you. At night I dream of you—your—er, crimson hair and lips of roses...make that honeyed lips. I love you from your head to your toes.”

A rotund woman with a nose as sharp as an eagle’s beak, stood tall and shouted, “What is this man but a goliard feigning love for a nun when ’Tis clear he could not convince a wench from the Stews that he feels anything but lust as his snug hose dare make clear.”

Sir Joe fixed the woman with a level stare. “Quiet you mangy goat!”

Gasps and murmurs floated through the hall, and the women’s husband touched the hilt of his sword.

Joe threw his arms wide. “What?” he asked innocently. “I said ‘Quite a marvelous coat!’ It’s beautiful.”

There was laughter and a few sighs of relief as the woman and her husband took their seats.

“I am not a goliard from the brothel,” Joe explained to the growing assemblage, “but a scholar of the caliber of John of Salisbury, and I journey from one place to another, not seeking pleasure and excitement, but only knowledge, awareness and understanding. And if I am allowed to finish...” He looked at the obnoxious woman with an arched brow. “I will recount my love for this monastic maiden in a manner more suited to your romantic tastes.”

There were a couple of “oohs“ along with a few “aahs“ and then all was silent as they waited for him to confess his feelings for the woman who sat patiently before him.

Joe spotted Sebastiano in the crowd, in the same spot the hooded man had been only moments ago, but the hooded man had disappeared into the crowd. He could be anywhere.

Turning back to Alexandra, more anxious than before, it took him a moment to remember where he’d left off. But the fervent gaze of anticipation on her face swiftly reminded him.

The audience wasn’t the only one waiting eagerly to hear him make some sort of amorous confession.

The pressure was on.

Swallowing hard, Joe took her hand again, this time noticing its softness, its femininity despite the short nails and years of hard work. Her hand fit nicely into his palm. “I-I do not know where to begin.”

She looked into his eyes and it was clear she wasn’t about to help him out. He’d have to be an idiot not to see that she was taking this whole declaration of love thing quite seriously. No wandering troubadour and monastic maiden here, not in her eyes. This was clearly between Alexandra and Joe. And she wanted the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

Damn.

He almost forgot about their audience. That is, until the distant murmuring reminded him that the crowd was growing restless.

“My heart,” he began in a strangled voice, then cleared his throat. “My heart beats faster when you are near.”

His mouth felt dry, his tongue thick. “Like the hooves of a dozen white horses against my chest.”

She cocked her head to one side, waited.

Such a tolerant, patient woman she was, he mused.

“Sometimes when I look at you unaware,” he continued, warming to the soothing gaze she focused on him, “a hot wave sweeps through me and sets my blood aflame.” He paused. “And in those moments, I...”

The women in the front row leaned forward against the stage to better hear him.

“I-I find myself wishing I could hold you in my arms forever.”

Alexandra smiled coyly.

“But then I remember you are promised to another. You know, from another world, so to speak, and...”

A smile curved her lips.

“I ache. I ache with an inner longing so intense that I think I might die if I can’t have you.” And it was the truth, he realized suddenly. He’d spent more than one night aching for her, wanting nothing more than to find her and bring her to his bed, never mind that there were kids coming out of the woodwork. How many times had he wished it was he she was washing when she took Rebecca to the lake for a bath, or that it was he she was comforting in the night when the wolves came too close? He missed having her to himself, and yet he also knew it was best. Because no matter how much he loved her, he couldn’t stay, because if he did, someday he would regret it. He might get used to cold baths and the lack of amenities, but sooner or later his thoughts would return to all that was left unresolved in his own world. And the love he felt for Alexandra would turn to resentment.

But he did love her, didn’t he?

The thought that he might, caused a jolt of alarm within. He’d never known what love might entail. But the realization that he might love her, felt different than anything he ever imagined. It felt okay, almost good. Maybe he did love her. Alexandra loved him. She had told him so. And even if she hadn’t, he had seen the way she looked at him when he was busy with the horses or with the kids. And he saw it now as she gazed candidly at him, regarding him with open fondness.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He nodded.

It was true what they said about “it not being over until the fat lady sings“ because the fat lady stood up again and shouted, “For the love of God, tell her how you feel!”

The crowd clapped their approval and the woman smiled and then bowed before taking her seat again.

Joe did his best to pull himself together. “I confess my love to you now, this moment, my fair lady. And if loving you is a sin, than I am a sinner, for I cannot stop myself from loving you any more than I could stop my heart from beating. And even then...I would never stop loving you.”

All was still.

Alexandra released a faint soft sigh. “I, too, love thee,” she said, “and it is the truest, deepest, most sincere of loves that aids me in making the choice I must make. God, the All-Merciful, would never wish to come between a love such as ours. Thus, I am leaving the nunnery. He would want it so.”

Every man seemed to gasp while most women in attendance released a wistful sigh, making the hairs on the back of Joe’s neck stand on end, for he interpreted Alexandra’s words to mean that he should leave his other life behind and stay with her forever. And she knew better than anyone that he could not stay. Would not stay.

“My lady,” he said, drawing her close so that he could whisper in her ear, “that’s not how the tale ends.”

“Today it ends my way,” she whispered back. “Mayhap on the morrow it will end your way. Now kiss me, and quickly, before the crowd revolts.”

Joe stood, pulling her up with him. And before the audience could grumble further, he leaned low and covered her mouth with his, eagerly finishing the kiss they had begun in the hallway. For one moment, one tranquil moment, he forgot all else but the woman in his arms.

Moments passed before they parted. Joe took a bow as the crowd clapped their approval, cheering wildly for an encore.

Joe spotted Garrett immediately. He was with a young lady who wore a tightly fitted bodice with dipping waistline and fur trim on the sleeves of her dress. Instead of looking like a woman who had spent three weeks in a dungeon, she gave the impression of being nobility—in dress and in manner. She also looked nearly identical to Alexandra. Her eyes weren’t as bright, but her hair...her hair was definitely the same.

Something overcame Joe in that moment when he looked upon Alexandra’s sister, something good and decent, making him feel whole and satisfied. They had done it.

Together, they had crossed the untamed wilderness and rescued her sister, a damsel in distress. But then why, he wondered, was Garrett standing out in the open with her? And why did Alexandra’s sister look so furious?

Joe shifted his attention back to Alexandra. An animated smile lit up her face as she spotted Garrett and Mary.

Gasps from the crowd drew Joe’s attention. Two men were shoving and pushing their way through the masses. The hooded man was making his move, heading straight for King Henry. Sebastiano was just about to close in on the assassin when King Henry’s protectors stopped him in his pursuit, setting their blades to his throat.

The king’s men failed to see what was happening.

Joe didn’t stop to think, he just jumped, leaped off of the stage like a madman and landed smack on top of the killer who managed to break Joe’s fall quite nicely.

Joe and the assassin rolled across the floor, taking an innocent Duke with them, the Duchess screaming as her husband was sucked into the middle of the chaos. People parted like the Red Sea, and then someone managed to pull the Duke to safety. Chairs and benches were broken as they went. Joe felt a scorching pain as he was knocked into a wall, pinned there long enough for them both to catch their breath.

The man’s hood fell back and his vulgar smile revealed a row of discolored teeth, his breath like rotted meat. Before the man broke free, Joe slammed his foot into his gut, pushing him backwards and giving himself enough time to get to his feet.

Joe saw blood on his shirt, but he had no time to worry about whose blood it might be. He staggered slightly before someone at his side helped him keep his balance. It was Garrett. A spasm of horror crossed the boy’s features.

Joe spun around.

The assassin was coming for him, his repulsive face lit with bitter triumph as he held his dagger outward, ready to lunge it into Joe’s heart.

He felt sad that it had to end this way.

“Take this you rat infested scum,” Garrett said as he raised a hand and sprayed pepper spray squarely into the man’s eyes. The man’s dagger dropped to his side, giving Joe time to lay a hard and fast fist on the man’s face, sending him staggering backwards and into the hands of the king’s guards.

Another of the king’s men stepped forward and Joe recognized him immediately as Udolf. “’Tis the man in tights who wishes the king harm,” Udolf called out.

“He lies!” Alexandra cried from the stage. “The man who calls himself your protector is the very man who paid this killer to take your life.”

“She speaks the truth,” Sebastiano chorused, still held back by too many strong arms. “I am one of many sent to find you and warn you of the impending danger. ’Twould seem Perkin Warbeck is up to his old tricks again. He has escaped prison and has raised a small army of rebels.”

The king laughed at hearing Warbeck’s name, as if the man who plotted his murder was merely a thorn in his side. King Henry snapped his fingers. “Release the young man. Allow him to bring me the message he speaks of.”

Sebastiano jerked his arms free, smoothed his hair back, then pulled the rolled parchment from his satchel. He unwrinkled it as best he could before handing it to His Majesty. Sebastiano fell gently to bended knee, waiting with bowed head for the king to read the scroll.

His Majesty looked up when he was done. “What have you to say to this?” the king asked Udolf, who now stood pale and rigid before him.

“Surely you do not believe a mere goliard over your own protector?”

“Your Majesty,” Sebastiano cut in, “I beseech you to check the birthing records of this so-called protector and his malevolent companion, George. You will find that they are related to the earl of Warwick, son of the duke of Clarence.”

“And what of them?” the king questioned, waving toward Joe and Garrett. “What is their place in all of this?”

“’Tis a long story, Your Majesty, but I can well assure you that this man who plays the lovesick troubadour is as brave and chivalrous as the men I served in London. His name is Sir Joe McFarland, otherwise known as the Black Knight.”

The crowd murmured and gossiped, delighted to have witnessed such an exciting event, especially now that the king was safe.

“He is humble, too,” Sebastiano went on, “for he believes himself to be naught more than a simple scholar from afar.”

The king lifted a brow at Sebastiano. “And in payment for his protection and brave deed you suggest...”

Sebastiano was impressed by the King’s receptiveness.

“Sire,” another man called, interrupting the exchange.

“What is it, Sir Richard?” the king asked impatiently.

“Before you decide such an important matter, I have a question for the monastic maiden.” Sir Richard gestured toward Alexandra. “If I am not mistaken, she is my wife’s own sister.”

“Well, by all means let us find out,” the king said.

Sir Richard did not at all resemble the man Joe had envisioned these past few weeks. Standing at an unlofty height of about five foot eight inches, a few inches shorter than the king, he looked downright harmless. His long reddish-blonde hair touched at the metal plates covering his shoulders, and he wore a fascinating breastplate attached with straps and buckles to a lower plate. A gold cross hung about his neck and clanked against metal when he moved.

Mary came forth before Sir Richard could continue, Garrett close behind. “Alexandra,” she said, “Garrett tells me you are here to rescue me. Whatever for?”

Alexandra’s eyes narrowed. “Because you were taken by this wicked man,” she said, jabbing a finger toward Sir Richard, “and we are here to save you from a life of turmoil.”

Mary’s face paled. “Did you not receive my message?”

“Nay,” Alexandra said, a murderous look in her eyes. “What foolishness do you speak of, and be quick to answer, for your obvious happiness upsets me to no end.”

“As you well know,” Mary began nervously, “Sir Richard and I had met on more than one occasion prior to his men coming to take me away.”

Alexandra tapped her foot impatiently to the floor. “And I sent him away.”

Mary chewed on her lip. “On this particular occasion, you were not about. What I failed to tell you previously,” Mary went on, her face pinched, “and had every intention of doing so, was that I had fallen in love with him.”

Alexandra gawked in disbelief. “How could you fall in love with a man who watches idly by as hard times befall those around you?”

“He knew not of the people’s strife. ’Twas Harig’s doing when Sir Richard left to do the king’s bidding. I do not know when I fell in love with Sir Richard exactly,” Mary squeaked, wringing her hands as she spoke. “Love is not an emotion you can turn on and off at will. ’Tis just there like the air we breathe.” She gazed lovingly into Richard’s eyes. “There is naught that can cure the heart of its grasp once love has taken hold.”

Alexandra rolled her eyes. “How could you love a man who snatches you unaware, leaving your house a fire. Grandfather could have been killed.”

Mary looked devastated by the news.

Richard frowned. “Harig was not ordered to stay behind and destroy your property. Message of the mayhem and destruction he caused came to me only days ago. Harig will be well punished for his deeds.”

Sir Richard turned pleading eyes to Alexandra. “Mary confessed her love for me months ago, and yet she refused to come with me because of you. I felt I had no choice but to take her by force. But I swear before the king himself that I never intended for any harm to come to you or your family.”

“So, this is my fault?” Alexandra said through gritted teeth. “This man,” she said to her sister, jabbing Joe in the arm, “risked his life to save Grandfather and me from the fire. If it were not for him who knows what Harig would have done to our brother. I shudder to think of it.”

“I did not know,” Mary said, reaching out a hand to her, “I swear.”

“’Tis my fault,” Sir Richard declared boldly, “and I shall send a dozen of my men to Brookshire to rebuild. Tell me what I can do to make this up to you?”

Alexandra crossed her arms. “You can begin by putting a stop to the overtaxing of our people. They work their fingers to the bone, and for what? They can hardly keep their children fed or clothed. What of that?”

Once again Sir Richard appeared genuinely appalled. “I had no idea. Clearly I need to visit my holdings more often. The matter will be remedied, I assure you.”

Alexandra’s features softened as she placed her arms about her sister, whose tears were streaming freely now.

“I should have told you of my feelings months ago,” Mary told her, “but you were always so busy. ’Twas never the right time.”

Alexandra shook her head. “I never gave you the chance, so obsessed was I with the crops and whether or not the wheat would provide us enough money to send you off to London to be well schooled.”

“I failed to realize your intentions,” Mary said.

“’Twould seem you are not the only one who was keeping secrets,” Alexandra admitted, realizing she should have spoke to Mary of her plans.

Mary wiped her eyes before she reached out and pulled Garrett into their tight circle, giving him a warm squeeze, making him both wince from pain and blush from embarrassment.

“It might cheer you to know,” Mary said to Alexandra, “that Richard has provided me with many skilled tutors. Since arriving, I have devoted myself seriously to my studies. Not only have I learned the abacus, dear sister, I have made the acquaintance of geometry! And who would have guessed there to be such a long line of poets, orators, and philosophers?”

Alexandra looked to Joe.

He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

Her gaze fell to the blood staining his clothes, and then back to his pale face. His legs wobbled just before he crumpled to the ground.