A Knight in Shining Armour (9 page)

Swallowing his rising anger, Nicholas gave the woman a curt nod. He understood her meaning if not her words, but at least he had made her agree to stay with him for a few more hours. Later, he would have to find something else to keep her by his side until he discovered how to get back to his own time. And when he found what he needed to know, he would rejoice to leave this woman.

“Clothes,” she was saying. “We’ll get you clothes, then it’ll be tea time.”

“Tea? What is tea?”

Dougless stopped walking. An Englishman who pretended he didn’t know about tea? This man was more than she could bear. She’d help him until she got him checked into a hotel, then she’d be glad to get rid of him.

T
hey walked together
down the wide sidewalk in silence, the man looking in shop windows, at the people, and at the cars on the street. His handsome face wore such an expression of astonishment that Dougless could almost believe he had never seen the modern world before. He asked her no questions, but often halted for a moment to stare at a car or at a group of young girls in short skirts.

It was only a block to a small clothing store for men. “Here’s where we can buy you something less conspicuous to wear,” she said.

“Yes, I would see a tailor,” he said, looking up over the door and frowning as though something were missing.

“It’s not a tailor, just ready-made clothes.”

When they were inside the little shop, Nicholas stood still, gaping at the shirts and trousers hanging from the racks. “These clothes have been made,” he said, his eyes wide.

Dougless started to reply, but instead turned to the clerk who’d come forward to greet them. The man was small, thin, and had to be at least ninety years old. “We need clothing for him from the skin out. And he’ll have to be measured for size.” Even if the man did remember his sizes, he’d no doubt pretend he didn’t, she thought.

“Certainly,” the clerk said, then looked at Nicholas. “If you’ll step over here, sir, we can begin measuring.”

When she saw that the man was leading the way to a semi-private area at the back of the store, Dougless stood where she was. But Nicholas insisted that she go with him into the curtained-off area.

Dougless sat on a chair off to one side, picked up a magazine, and pretended to read while the clerk began to undress Nicholas. The way he raised his arms for the clerk to unlatch his armor made it look as though he was used to other people undressing him. Carefully, almost reverently, the little man set Nicholas’s armor on a cushioned bench. Dougless saw the man run a caressing hand down one side of the armor before turning back.

Under the armor, Nicholas wore a big-armed linen shirt that was plastered to his body with sweat.

And what a body he had! Dougless thought as she almost dropped her magazine. She’d seen armor in museums and had laughed at the way the metal had been molded into the shape of a muscular torso. She’d always thought that it had been done to hide a man’s paunch. But this man, this Nicholas Stafford, was indeed as broad-shouldered and as muscled as the shape of the armor.

Dougless tried her best to keep her attention on the magazine she was holding, some treatise on the joys of salmon fishing, but she kept glancing up at the bare-chested Nicholas. The clerk brought one shirt after another for him to try on, but the earl liked none of them. After about the fifteenth shirt, the clerk looked with pleading eyes to Dougless.

She put down the magazine and walked to stand before him, her eyes determinedly on his face. “What’s wrong?” she asked Nicholas.

He moved to one side, away from the clerk, who busied himself with folding clothes. “There is no beauty in this raiment,” he said, frowning. “There is no color, no jewels, no needlework. Perhaps a woman could ply her needle to one of these and—”

Dougless smiled. “Women don’t sew today. At least not like this,” she said as she touched the cuff of his linen shirt that had been thrown across a clothing rack. The cuff was embroidered in black silk in a design of birds and flowers with a lovely hand-done trim of black cutwork on the edge.

Dougless caught herself. Of course women—some women, somewhere—still sewed like that because someone in this century had sewn that shirt, hadn’t she?

Dougless picked up a beautiful cotton shirt from the discarded heap. The English weren’t like Americans in always wanting something new every five minutes, so the clothing in English stores tended to be of the best quality, made to last for years. If one could afford the outrageous prices, the quality was worth the cost.

“Here, try this one on again,” she said, finding herself coaxing him. She wondered if there was a woman alive who hadn’t experienced shopping with a man and trying to persuade him to like something. “Look at this fabric; feel how soft it is.”

As Dougless held the shirt for him, his reluctance evident, Nicholas slipped his arms into the sleeves, while she did her best to keep her eyes off the way his muscles played under his skin.

The shirt was beautiful. “Now,” she said, “step over to the mirror and have a look.”

She had seen the three full-length mirrors when they’d entered the curtained area, so it had not occurred to her that Nicholas had not noticed them. She wasn’t prepared for his reaction to the three mirrors. At first he just stared at them; then, cautiously, he reached out to touch one.

“They are glass?” he whispered.

“Of course. What else are mirrors made of?”

From inside his balloon shorts, he withdrew a little round wooden object and handed it to her. On the other side of the wood was a metal mirror, and when Dougless looked into it, her image was distorted.

Glancing up at the man, she saw the way he was studying his reflection. Was it truly the first time he’d ever seen a clear full-length view of himself? Had he only seen his own reflection in distorted metal mirrors such as the one she was holding?

Of course not, she told herself. He just didn’t remember the last time he’d seen a mirror. Or maybe he did remember and was pretending he didn’t.

Looking up, she caught sight of her own reflection in the mirror. What a mess she was! As a result of all her crying, her eye makeup was under her eyes instead of above them. Her blouse was hanging out of her belt, and there a long cut on the sleeve, and it was dotted with blood. Her navy blue tights were bagging at the ankle. And her hair, tangled and droopy, was too awful to contemplate.

Turning away from the unpleasant vision, she mumbled, “Trousers.” This time, Dougless left the curtained area as the clerk measured Nicholas. When the door to the shop opened and more customers entered, the clerk ushered Nicholas to a dressing room, then handed him several pair of trousers through the door. All was quiet for a moment until Dougless saw the dressing room door open a crack and the man peeped out, looking at Dougless for help. She went to him.

“I cannot manage,” he said softly, then opened the door wider so she could enter. “What manner of fastening is this?”

Dougless tried not to think of this situation. She was squashed into a dressing room with a strange man who couldn’t figure out how to work the zipper on the front of his trousers. “Here, like . . .” She started to show him on the trousers he had on, but she thought better of that. Taking a pair hanging from a hook, she showed him the zipper, then the snaps; then she took a step back to watch while, childlike, he zipped and unzipped, snapped and unsnapped. When she was sure he’d caught on, she started to open the door.

“Wait. What is this wondrous substance?” He held up a pair of boxer shorts, stretching the waistband in and out.

“It’s elastic,” she said.

“Elastic,” he said, mispronouncing the word as “elistic.” But his face was so alight with discovery that she couldn’t help feeling good also.

“That’s nothing,” she said, smiling. “Wait until you see velcro.” She backed out of the dressing room. “You need any more help, let me know.”

She was still smiling as she closed the door behind her. Standing with her back to the dressing room door, she looked at the clothes around her. How plain they must look to a man who was used to wearing silver armor, she thought.

While they had been inside the dressing room, the clerk had placed the armor, the sword, and the dagger in two large, doubled shopping bags and had set them to the left of the dressing room door. When Dougless went to pick up the bags, they were so heavy she almost dropped them.

After a while, Nicholas came out of the dressing room. He was wearing a soft white cotton shirt and slim gray cotton trousers. The shirt was of the current voluminous style, while the trousers were snug. He looked utterly divine.

As Dougless watched him, he walked to the mirror, then glowered at his image.

“These . . . these,” he said, tugging at the ease of the trousers at the back of his leg.

“Trousers. Pants,” she supplied, blinking at him. It was taking her a while to adjust to his good looks.

“They do not fit me. They do not show my legs, and I have a fine pair of legs.”

Dougless laughed and her trance was broken. “Men don’t wear stockings now, but, really, you look great.”

“I am not sure,” he said, frowning. “Perhaps a chain.”

“No chain,” she said firmly. “Trust me on this.
No chain.”

She chose a leather belt for him, then socks. “We’ll have to go to another store for shoes.”

Feeling as though she’d done her good deed for the year, Dougless wasn’t prepared for Nicholas’s actions at the cash register. The little clerk totaled the tags he’d cut from the clothes, then told them the cost. Dougless was shocked speechless when Nicholas shouted, “I will have your head, thief!” then reached for his sword—which, thankfully, was in the shopping bags by Dougless’s feet.

“He means to rob me!” Nicholas bellowed. “I can hire a dozen men for less than he asks for these unadorned clothes.”

Dougless nearly leaped as she put herself between Nicholas and the counter while the poor little clerk huddled against the opposite wall. “Give me the money,” she said firmly. “Everything costs more now than it used to. I mean,” she said as she clenched her teeth, “you’ll remember soon enough about how much things cost. Now, give me the money.”

Still angry, he handed Dougless the leather bag full of coins. “No,” she said, “the modern money.” When Nicholas just stood there, not seeming to understand what she was talking about, she searched through the shopping bags until she found the English pounds.

“He will take paper for clothes?” the earl whispered as Dougless counted out the money; then he smiled. “I will give him all the paper he wants. He is a fool.”

“It’s paper
money,”
she said as they left the shop. “And you can exchange the paper for gold.”

“Someone will give me gold for paper?” he asked, incredulous.

“Yes, there are gold dealers, and some banks sell gold.”

“Then why do you not use gold to buy goods with?”

“Too heavy, I guess.” She sighed. “You put your money in a bank. Money you aren’t using, that is, and use the paper as a substitute for the gold. Where do you put
your
money?” she asked.

“In my houses,” he answered, frowning as he considered what she’d told him.

“Oh, I see,” she said, smiling. “I guess you dig a hole and hide it. Well, today money is put in a bank where it earns interest.”

“What is interest?”

Dougless groaned. Enough was enough! “Here’s a tea shop. Are you hungry?”