A Knight in Central Park

chapterTwenty-Five

Better break your word than do worse in keeping it.

—Thomas Fuller

Spring was well over, but Alexandra felt as fresh as the dawning of a new day as she watched Sir Joe kneel before the king. Alexandra could not recall ever being more proud than she was at this moment. Her hero from Central Park was being dubbed a true knight by the King of England himself.

“A defender of the weak and unsuspecting. Merciful, bold and courageous you have proven yourself to be,” the herald said before the king’s assemblage of a few select lords and ladies.

Alexandra’s sister, Mary, and Sir Richard, the Lady and Lord of Radmore’s Keep stood nearby. How very strange, Alexandra thought, to be within Sir Richard’s fortress, seeing her sister at his side, his gaze falling lovingly upon his new wife. It would take some getting used to this new brother-in-law of hers...but if her sister was truly happy, then what more could she ask for?

“Sir Joe, are you prepared to accept the accolade of knighthood this day?” King Henry asked from his velvet cushioned high-back chair.

“I am.”

“Well then I give you these spurs.”

A young squire knelt before Sir Joe and fastened spurs to his leather boots.

“These spurs,” the herald said next, “represent the right of a true knight to ride unhindered throughout the land, protecting the weak, defending the defenseless, and helping the needy. And adorning this belt,” the herald went on as the squire fastened the belt about Sir Joe’s waist, “are blue stones representing the Virgin Mary, reminding every Knight to be ever faithful in his duties, to be pure of heart, and to be respectful in his actions and his deeds.”

“Choose death before dishonor,” the squire said before stepping back and making room for King Henry to come forth.

“Never draw this in anger,” the king said as he placed a mighty broadsword in Sir Joe’s hands. “This sword represents the Knight’s right to dispense justice. The double edge of the blade ever reminds you, brave Knight, to temper justice with mercy. As the steel of the Sword must be tempered in fire and water, so must the soul of the Knight be tempered by adversity and compassion.”

As the herald asked Sir Joe to swear his oath of fealty and service, Alexandra held tightly to Sir Joe’s leather satchel; inside of which was the last stone. By entrusting it with her, he had in a sense, entrusted her also with his own destiny.

Sir Joe spoke as if he was not sure of his love for her.

But she knew otherwise.

She did not need to hear the words to know that he loved her. She saw the love he held for her every day in the way he looked at her, in the way he worried over her siblings, and in the way he so plainly trusted her without fault.

Verily she wanted naught more than to throw the stone into the black hole within the garderobe. He was no wandering troubadour, no simple man. He was her knight. And it dawned on her suddenly that mayhap he knew her better than she knew herself, for suddenly she felt sure he had given her his satchel, knowing she would want naught more than to throw it into the moat.

And how very tempting the notion was.

Carefully tugging on the ties, she pried the bag loose and reached within until she felt the stone’s rough edges upon her fingertips. Odd, she thought, for the stones she had carried had been as smooth and as cold as marble.

Her mouth felt suddenly dry as she realized this was not the rock Sir Joe thought it to be. Grandfather!

Hastily, she pulled the rock out into the light. She did not have to see the dull white veins running through the stone to know that it was not the true stone. She gaped in stunned silence at Sir Joe as he knelt before the King of England.

She could not fault Grandfather, for she too, wanted naught more than to have Sir Joe stay with her forever. But unless ’twas his own choice, she could not trick him again. They had both made promises to one another.

Sir Joe had kept his promise. She could do no less.

She would not fret over it now, she thought as she watched with great pride as King Henry took the heavy sword from Sir Joe’s hands and tapped its blade to Sir Joe’s good shoulder.

“I hereby dub you Knight,” the king said. “The Black Knight of Levonshire.”

Afterward, the king rambled on, telling all to enjoy the festivities planned by their gracious hosts, Sir Richard and his lovely wife, Lady Mary.

After congratulations were given, Alexandra caught sight of Sir Joe coming her way. She wished to avoid him for as long as it took to figure out how to tell him he had not the true stone. But the time was to be now. She could only pray he would take his recent oaths seriously. Surely he would not do anything rash in full view of His Majesty? She nibbled at her lip and turned toward the long tables of food, pretending not to see him.

He took hold of her arm and then touched her chin, bringing it upward so she had no choice but to look at him. “Have you been crying?”

“Nay, of course not,” she said. “I-I do believe Sir Richard’s cook is overly fond of onions.”

“Alexandra...”

“Am I stuttering?”

He nodded.

“Is it the ceremony that has you tearful, or is it the fact that I refused to wear those tights you’re so fond of?”

She smiled, all the while wishing she did not have to look at him each time as if it were to be her last. “I will miss you when you are gone,” she blurted.

“We’re not going to talk about my leaving, remember? We’re going to eat and drink and be merry and then we’ll dance the night away.” He tilted her chin upward once again. “Alexandra, what’s wrong? You’re acting strange. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“How is it that you read me so well?”

“You’re an open book Alexandra Dunn. When you look deep into my eyes and lean close, I know you want to be kissed.”

She looked to her feet.

“And when you cross your arms and tap your feet, you are angry with me,” he said. “And when you avoid me and can hardly glance my way, I know you’re hiding something. So tell me. Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.”

“’Tis about the stone,” she divulged, handing his satchel to him.

“It’s here,” he assured her. “I can feel it.”

She shook her head. “Nay, I am afraid Grandfather has played a trick on you.”

His muscles tensed. He plucked the stone from its hiding place and held it to the light. His face paled. “Why hadn’t I noticed it before? Your grandfather had been reluctant to hand it over...why would he have an ordinary rock stuffed away in his mattress...unless,” he said, his expression turning grim, “unless he knew I might ask for it. He’s a smart man, that grandfather of yours...sneaky, but very clever all the same.”

Clearly, Sir Joe was doing his best to rein in his frustrations, Alexandra realized. From the satchel he retrieved a folded parchment and a writing utensil. He counted the lines and then added two more. “Twenty nights have passed,” he said finally. “That leaves me with nine days to get back to your village.” He took a firm hold of her shoulders. “Can we get back in that amount of time?”

She nodded. “If we make haste.”





Although Mary was disappointed by their need for a hasty departure, she and Sir Richard were more than helpful in seeing them off. Provisions were many and Sir Joe and Alexandra were given a mule to carry the load. With no time to waste, they said their good-byes, two sisters promising to set eyes on one another soon. Garrett, Sebastiano, and Joe were already mounted. They waited patiently for the women to hug and cry and hug again.

“Women,” Garrett said, “they set my teeth to grinding. If Mary dares to supply us with one more bolt of frieze, or one more pound of sugar, our mounts will fall over dead from the weight.”

Joe laughed and so did Sebastiano when Garrett failed to hide the faint smile playing at his mouth. They were a sorry lot, the three men with their various injuries: Garrett’s waist was tightly bound with clean linen and Joe’s arm was bandaged and propped in a sling. Sebastiano had scratches across one cheek and on his throat from his scuffle with the king’s men.

They did finally set off while the sun still shone, and they continued to ride straight through even after the sun had set to the west.

Joe and Alexandra rode together upon Precious, while the mule and Alexandra’s horse were tied to the back and followed behind. Alexandra slept, leaning back against Joe’s chest as he kept himself awake by replaying the scene with King Henry. To think he had been dubbed a Knight. It was too much to comprehend. Never mind that he had survived adventures far beyond his imagination, he had met King Henry VII and was being credited for saving his life. Disbelief made him shake his head once more.

Joseph McFarland of Manhattan, also known as the Black Knight, stops history from changing. Mind boggling.

As the sun rose, Garrett appeared ready to fall asleep. His head would loll to the side, and then he would jerk upright, eyes wide as if he’d just awoken from a good long nap.

At the front of the line was Sebastiano. Joe asked him to hold up for a moment as he clicked his tongue and caught up to him. Precious was now accustomed to Joe’s riding habits. The animal had grown stronger and healthier with all the exercise and fresh air over the past weeks.

“We need to head north toward the inn where Susan and Rebecca are staying,” Joe told Sebastiano.

Alexandra looked up at him with sleepy, curious eyes.

“Good morning,” he said, kissing her forehead. “I was just telling Sebastiano that we needed to head toward the inn.”

“But there is no need,” she replied. “Sebastiano has agreed to escort my sisters home so as not to delay us further.”

Joe shook his head. “We’ll all go together.”

Eager to see Susan again, Sebastiano dug his heels into the horse’s flanks.

Garrett merely shrugged and did the same.

Alexandra looked at Joe, perplexed by his decision.

He shrugged. “I promised Susan I would come back for her and you know how I hate to break a promise.”

After a moment, Alexandra said thoughtfully, “I wonder what your father will think of your new title upon your return?”

He raked a hand through his hair. “That’s the second time you have talked of my returning.”

She shrugged, obviously baffled by his comment.

“Go ahead,” Joe said, “and say whatever it is that’s bugging you Alexandra. Get it all out until there’s nothing left unsaid.”

She straightened. “All right, I will.” She glanced ahead at her brother and saw that he and Sebastiano were waiting for them. “Move on you two,” she called. “We will catch up to you shortly.” She then turned her attention back to Joe. “Before I speak my mind, I shall like to find a private place to freshen myself.”

“I could use a good stretch,” he said as he reined Precious toward a patch of greenery. Joe dismounted, his legs stiff, his shoulder sore as he helped her down. He watched her head for the tall shrubs, admired the soft sway of her hips as she went. He had no clue what she might say to him when she returned, but he knew she needed to have her say.





By the time Alexandra returned to where Sir Joe waited for her, she felt sick to her stomach. Sure that her sickness stemmed from eating too much, she decided not to say as much to Sir Joe. Mary had insisted she eat, saying she looked too thin. Alexandra was not used to having Mary act as her mother for it had always been the other way around with the two of them. But Alexandra had to admit she enjoyed her sister’s pampering. And to please Mary, she had eaten every last bite on her plate.

Her sister would not be happy to know that every last morsel was now beneath the shrubs. The morning sun felt good on her face and shoulders as she headed toward Sir Joe, noticing at once how the light reflected off of his broadsword, making him appear...unreal. As if he was a figment of her imagination.

His hair was long, and despite his taking a blade to his jaw, the stubble was already a dark shadow upon his handsome face. There was no denying he had been in fine shape when they first met. But now, as he leaned against the oak, his shoulders broad, his hair long, his eyes watching her without censure, she saw so much more than an intelligent man with a penchant for cleanliness. She saw Sir Joe McFarland, her very own Knight, the man she loved.

He handed her a tin cup filled with water. She emptied the cup in a few long gulps, but refused the chunk of cheese and wheat bread he offered next. “I am still full from the fine feast of yesterday. There was more food on my plate than I have eaten all year.”

“A delicious meal it was,” he agreed. “So,” he said, “what’s on your mind?”

“I wish to know why you still plan to return to your time. Is it because of your father, or is it truly because of the Academy you so often speak of?”

He finished tying the water jug to the saddle and then appeared to be in deep thought as he turned back to her. “It’s hard to explain.” He paused. “But I guess one of the reasons is that for most of my life I thought I could do something great, something that would make a difference. That’s one of the reasons I became a professor. I wanted to teach young men and women about the world. Does that make sense?”

She shook her head.

He sighed. “I guess what I’m saying is that my staying here will not change what happens tomorrow. History has already been made in this world. Life goes on in a sense, but nothing changes.”

She let out a huff. “The King of England might very well have perished had you not come and who knows what would have changed in your world and in mine had you not been here.” She touched his arm. “Do you not see? You can make a difference, you have already proven such.”

He shook his head, but didn’t say anything more.

“’Tis done, is that what you are saying?” Her brow creased. “What happens to me and my family has no bearing on you or your comfortable, peaceful life, and so why should you care, is that it?”

“No, that’s not what I meant.”

“I saw the news in your world,” she said, feeling bitterness and frustrations she had not even known existed until this moment. “All of your modern technology and fast cars and markets on every corner and yet people are starving in your world, right under your noses.” She sighed. “I think you are returning in hopes that one day your father will see your full worth, mayhap see within you the boy he gave up so long ago. What then?” Alexandra’s hands trembled. “I wonder,” she said calmly now, “does the boy in the man’s flesh finally and miraculously learn about love and compassion, shedding his old skin like a snake when his father finally returns? Or does the man quickly seek a new treasure like a crab seeks a new shell, hoping this will be the thing that will help him succeed in filling the hole left by his imperfect childhood. Or, when all else fails, does the boy seek a new goal when his true calling, his life’s purpose, fizzles out completely?”

She did not look away from him as she shook her head, saying, “What the boy, who is now a full grown man, does not yet realize is that he has no purpose at all; too busy to see that he has no life, nobody to love, no one to grow old with because he is scared to death that no one will ever love him back for very long.”

She stopped talking long enough to see that she had enraged him. The muscles in his jaw twitched and his mouth had become a hard straight line.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” he said. “Why can’t you, or your grandfather, or your siblings see that? I didn’t ask to be sent to your world? I can’t just drop my life at the tip of a hat. Marriage, children, whatever it is you have planned for you, for us, was not part of my plan. Why is everyone so damned determined to ruin my life?”

“I never intended to ruin your life,” she said, daring him to contradict her, having no fear of him. “Since your arrival I did not scheme or plan to keep you from returning to your haunted past. Nor would I want to ruin your dreams of being reunited with a man who has all but deserted you.”

“He did not desert me.”

She let out a frustrated breath, and found a sudden need to sit down. Instead, she leaned against the horse. “Call it what you will,” she said, her legs wobbling, “but my father did the same, for neither have I seen him since he walked out of our lives so long ago.”

“It’s different with my father,” Joe said matter-of-factly. “He’s a busy man, is all.”

Alexandra let out an exasperated breath, her shoulder’s sagging as if the weight of the world had landed full upon them. “Aye. You are right,” she said, deciding suddenly that she would not be the one to destroy his fantasy of having a father who truly cared. His father had left him just as her father had left her and her siblings, but Sir Joe was afraid to see the truth. Once again she reminded herself that she did not want his pity. And moreover, she did not want him to stay against his will.

“I am sorry your life has been filled with so many hardships,” he said, touching her arm. “And I am sorry I cannot stay.”

His words so deeply revealed the pity she had already inspired in him. Her gut wrenched. “Naught to be sorry about,” she said softly, feigning a smile. “Life will soon return to normal and all will be well.”