Chris Karlsen - Knights in Time (40 page)

I lost sight of your vehicle a short way back but when I saw a Heritage Site sign commemorating the battle and an arrow pointing this way, I surmised this was the intended destination.”

“How long have you been here?”

“I came upon you while Marchand here had his legs around you tighter than the finest of

bawds.”

Stephen tamped down the temptation to get up and punch Alex in the nose. “You didn’t

think to help?”

“You were always a good fighter. You needed to win on your own to know you still are.

Besides, Simon put that hold on you many a time and you found a way out of it. The rest was just fisticuffs. If I thought you’d get truly hurt, then I’d have lent a hand and separated the two of you.”

Alex gave voice to the niggling prick of self-doubt that had eaten at Stephen in spite of the

judo lessons. He had needed to see for himself that he was much the same man he used to be.

“Thank you.”

“Hello, I am here still.” Marchand wiggled, trying to ease the pressure on his kidney.

“How does your friend know what can and cannot be changed? Does he serve the devil too?”

“For the last time, no one here serves the devil.” Alex helped Stephen to stand, gave him

his cane, and said, “Let’s get this one up. If he does anything foolish, you can thrash him some more.”

Marchand moaned as he stood and brushed himself off. When he finished he turned his

attention to the two Englishmen, looking from the one called Alex to Stephen and back.

“How is it I find myself here? What purpose have I if not to help my country? Unlike

Palmer’s blasphemous questions, God did not speak words to me, he spoke to my heart.”

“Whatever conversation you had with the Lord, by whatever means, I assure you, a tear in

time brought you here. It’s not the devil, or Stephen’s, or anyone else’s doing. I don’t know the source. Neither of us does. Miracles don’t have explanations. That’s why they’re deemed such.

Like miracles, this has no explanation either. It is what it is.”

An answer that was no answer at all. He should’ve expected as much. Marchand moved

to a nearby stone bench and sat. Stephen followed and sat next to him. Alex joined them but

remained standing.

Marchand reached into his shirt and tore the chain with a small cross from his neck. He

took Stephen’s hand and laid the cross on his palm.

“What are you doing?”

“Just checking...to see if it burns you.” He ignored the man called Alex’s chuckle.

“You can’t be serious?”

“Because you say you are not the devil’s merchant doesn’t mean it is the truth.”

“Do you think if I was in league with him I’d stay blind?”

“Well...”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, look for yourself.” Palmer stuck his uninjured hand out.

Marchand snatched the cross back. “It was worth checking.” He turned to Alex. “Are

you certain there is no way back? How can this be when two of us here are proof we can move

through time?”

“Three of us, actually. I’ve also experienced the same. But I can’t tell why or how it

happened to me.”

“What am I to do?” Marchand asked.

“Why are you so bent on returning? Has your time here been so terrible?”

“No, but it is not
my
time. Here, I play at being myself. For the last few months, I pretend to be what I once was in front of crowds who find my group ‘good fun,’ and ‘cute.’” He sighed

and added, “The job is a constant reminder of all I lost.”

“Do you have a family?” Stephen asked.

Family
. Memories of Claudine surged. They’d been betrothed to each other while she

was still in her cradle. As a boy, he’d seen her once, when she was but ten summers old. The

next time she was fifteen and ready for marriage. Escorted by her parents, she’d come through

the door of his family’s great hall, where he and his parents waited. As she approached, she

looked up at him and smiled. She smelled of lilac and tiny flowers were woven into her hair.

Golden curls framed a face that would make angels cry with envy. Green eyes sparkled beneath

soft brown lashes and delicate dimples etched her porcelain cheeks. One smile captured his heart.

He knew with certainty that she’d saved that warm smile to bestow upon only him, but his

certainty proved wrong. She possessed one even more inviting. That one she bestowed on Jean-

Pierre, his Captain of the Guard and closest friend, and who in anger, he dismissed from his

service.

As always, memories of Yves welled up along with Claudine’s. Those Marchand pushed

away out of painful habit.

“Marchand? Is there family awaiting you?” Stephen repeated.

“No. Only my home and land is left to me.”

“The loss of one’s heritage is terribly difficult. I know. But it isn’t the end of the world

either,” Alex said.

“Even if we could go back to
our
time, what awaits us?” Stephen asked and then

continued, “Plague, winters where you’re never truly warm, loved ones taken too soon because

we don’t have the medicine to save them.”

Everything Palmer said was true. Marchand considered his lost future in the time he came

from. Good or bad, at least he was familiar with it.

“Is there no one or nothing here that makes you wish to stay?”

He shook his head. “There was a woman and child, but they have left.

“If there’s one thing we’ve no shortage of in this time, its women.” Alex took a ring with

keys out of his pocket. “I’m ready to go.”

“Me too,” Stephen said. “Your given name is Roger, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well Roger, we’re leaving. You’ve a choice. You can stay here and mourn the past or

you can come with us. We’ll drop you off in Limoges.”

Mourn the past
. Palmer had a point. He could make himself mad wishing for what

couldn’t be or forge a new, hopefully better path for himself. “I’m coming.”

“Good choice. Let’s go to my car and on the way to Limoges, we’ll discuss options for

you,” Alex said.

“Options?”

“You look strong and healthy. Well suited for a job I have that you might like better than

playing your old self.”

Stephen grasped Marchand by the arm as he stood. “Wait. You’ve not mentioned Arthur.

You said he came through time with you.”

“Yes. That part was true. He’s stabled not far from here. I will take you to him.”

#

“Mr. Marchand, good to see again,” a man greeted them as they approached. Stephen

guessed it was Patel, the stable owner Roger mentioned.

“Good to see you. As Mr. Lancaster told you on the phone, we’re here to see Arthur, the

horse you purchased from me.”

“I had him brought to the round pen. This way.”

“Take me to him,” Stephen said. He stumbled in his haste to follow Patel.

“Put your hand on my shoulder,” Alex told him. Stephen did, too anxious to get to Arthur

to turn down assistance.

They walked a short distance, when Patel said, “Here we are.”

Stephen dropped his hand from Alex’s shoulder and tapped over to the pipe rail. He didn’t

call Arthur by name, instead he gave two short whistles. Arthur trotted over immediately and

nickered.

Stephen let his cane fall to the ground and leaned in to put a hand on each side of Arthur’s

muzzle, using the back of his fingers to stroke the soft area behind the nostrils. “What a good boy you are. How I’ve missed you.” Arthur gave a soft nicker and bobbed his head. His way of

saying, “don’t stop.”

Stephen rubbed his muzzle a few more times, before he swung his leg between the rails to

enter the ring. “I would see how you’ve tended to him, Mr. Patel.”

“I’ve an excellent reputation for keeping my stable healthy.”

A slow hand over Arthur’s flanks, ribs, and spine proved Patel correct. The horse was fed

properly. Another hand over all four legs, front and back, revealed no injury and his hooves were well shod.

“I wish to buy him back from you. How much do you want?” Stephen asked as he

climbed back out from the ring.

“Seventy-five-hundred euros.”

“You only paid me five-thousand,” Marchand interjected.

“I didn’t want the horse as badly as your friend. Seventy-five-hundred, take it or leave it,

monsieur.”

“I will have the money wired to your account today. Alex—”

“No worries. I’ll arrange for transport.”

Now that he’d discovered Arthur alive and in this time, Stephen hated the thought of

leaving him, even for the brief bank visit. Arthur must’ve too, judging from his plaintive whinny as Stephen turned to go.

Chapter Thirty-Six

England

Stephen answered the door to his trailer and a flowery scent washed over him. “Hi, we’ve

never met. I’m Electra.”

“Ah, the wind chime sister. ‘Tis a pleasure to meet you. The chime is very handy and

much appreciated. Please come in.”

“Hold out your hands.” He did and she put a small tray in them. “Homemade teacakes.”

Stepping inside, she closed the door and then gave him an unexpected hug. “I saw you on the telly Christmas Eve. You were brilliant.”

“Thank you, Electra,” he said, trying not to spill the cakes as she embraced him. “You’re

very kind.”

“Call me El, everyone does. I’ll just put my coat on the bed, if that’s all right.”

Stephen set the tray onto the counter and returned to the drawing room, but he remained

standing in the capacity filled room. Every available seat was taken by Miranda, Ian, Alex,

Shakira, Esme, and Roger. He’d give his chair to Electra.

A few seconds later, she came out but dashed into the kitchen where Esme prepared

coffee. They began whispering. He couldn’t hear all they said but heard the painting in Canterbury mentioned. In the drawing room, the others were busy talking. Stephen edged closer to the

kitchen. El still spoke of the painting with his face. What would she make of the likeness?

“Yes, yes, I told you they could be twins. It is an amazing coincidence,” Esme said in a

hushed voice. “You don’t need to blather on about it.”

“It’s pretty odd business to ignore and not blather about. It’s not just Stephen. I got a look

at Alex Lancaster on my way to the bedroom. You said that the man standing behind the one who

is Stephen’s double looked like Lancaster. No kidding. They could be twins too.”

Stephen wasn’t sure what to do. To his relief, Esme handled her sister’s interest in the

painting.

“Let it go, El,” Esme warned again.

“I will, but you have to admit, it is freaking weird.”

“Let. It. Go.”

“Fine.” She brushed past Stephen and entered the drawing room. “Hi-hi everyone,”

Electra said and introduced herself to each.

Stephen tracked her progress as she went around the room. When she got to Roger, she

stopped and said, “I think I’ll sit here.” He’d taken the club chair, which only sat one person. To Stephen’s surprise, she must’ve managed to squeeze next to Roger since her voice came from the

same spot. “As you heard, I’m Electra but you can call me El. And who might you be?”

“I am Roger Louis Philippe Marchand.”

“Ooh, four names, very posh. Even posher than those folks with hyphenated last names.”

“Pardon?” Apparently, she’d confused Roger.

“What brings Roger Louis Philippe Marchand to our quiet shire?” Electra asked.

“A new position. I—” Electra’s giggle interrupted him. “What is this funny?”

“A Frenchman with a new position...the mind boggles,” a chipper El explained.

“I do not know what boggles is. I am to provide security on Stephen’s tours. Soon, I will

also be his driver. I must learn the skill first.”

“You’ll be hanging out here quite a bit, then. Good to know.”

Stephen’s curiosity piqued. Had Roger heard the interest in Electra’s voice as well as he

had?

Esme came out of the kitchen with the coffee and the tray of teacakes. He’d never tasted

a teacake, but they smelled sweet and he did like tarts. He snagged one as Esme went by and set it aside for when he was finished discussing a private business matter with Alex.

Shakira, Miranda, and Alex, shared the sofa. Alex sat on the end near where Stephen

stood. Stephen leaned down and said softly, “Alex, a word.” Tipping his head, he headed for the bedroom.

“What’s up?” Alex asked, joining Stephen.

“Have I earned enough funds to purchase a small cottage? Nothing fancy, a modest home

such as yours here.”

“Gloucestershire property is expensive. Right now, you haven’t enough. But when you’re

done touring this year, and with your combined music sales, then I think you will.”

Stephen hoped for better news. He wanted to ask Esme to marry him, but refused to

propose until he could offer her a proper home. The trailer was only a temporary place. He

appreciated Miranda and Ian’s generosity in loaning him the use of it but at the end of the day, it wasn’t
his
.

“Don’t look so discouraged. I’ve a plan you might like. No one knows yet, but we just

learned Shakira is pregnant. She and I are staying in London until after the baby is born. She

miscarried before and wants to be close to her doctor and the hospital, this time.”

Stephen gave his friend a bear of a hug. “What wonderful news.” He patted Alex on the

back then released him. “Congratulations. Perhaps it will be a son, a boy to carry on your name.”

“Son or daughter or one of each, I don’t care. I only want mother and baby to be healthy.”

“Of course. I am truly happy for you and Lady Shakira.”

“Thank you. Back to the topic of a place for you. The cottage has the music studio, which

is convenient, and anything else you need. It’s too small for our growing family. I’ll rent the cottage to you. If you find it suits you, then I’ll sell it to you and apply what you paid in rent towards the price.”