Wings of the Storm (2 page)

When the boy stopped talking, she shrugged, and

replied in Norman French. "Hello. Those are very nice pigs. Could you tell me where I am?" She spoke slowly because she was more used to reading langue d'oil than speaking it.

The boy blinked pale fringed lashes at her as she spoke. His eyes were very blue, the expression in them changing from curiosity to cautious neutrality. She supposed he was a Saxon. He probably didn't know a word of his country's conquerors' language.

And what did he make of her in her bright colors, with her brown eyes and creamy brown complexion and her slender height? She was five foot seven, tall for a male in this time, ridiculously tall for a woman.

The boy might not speak her language, but he reacted, though not as Jane expected. He wheeled around and, shouting loudly and waving his arms, he gathered up his herd and drove them back into the woods.

He gave Jane only one furtive look before leaving the clearing. She wiggled her fingers in an attempt at a friendly wave. Perhaps the lad took this gesture as some sort of evil sign, because her waving only made him move faster.

Forgetting the short veil, Jane scratched her head. The gesture dislodged the square of linen. A breeze caught the light cloth, blowing it back into the tower room. Jane followed after, grumbling, and tripped over the canvas bags. Once she righted herself she retrieved the veil and fastened it securely over her recently permed brown curls. Then she took a seat on the tower stairs, stared out the doorway, and won-dered what would happen next.

2

Not overly long after the swineherd's retreat,Jane heard the clop of a horse's hooves approaching the clearing. She reacted by scrambling up the steps to the second floor of the tower. The floorboards beneath her feet were rotting, covered in decaying leaves. Three tall but very narrow windows were cut in the deep stone. They let in some light, but more came from the hole near the center of the low ceiling.

She stepped cautiously across the creaking floorboards to peek through one of the arrow-slit openings and had a clear view of the rider as he came into sight.

His horse was very large, powerful muscles rippling beneath its shiny black coat. The high-stepping animal moved with almost delicate grace across the uneven ground. Jane's knowledge of horseflesh was minimal, but even she could recognize a warhorse when she saw one. That, she told herself, was a Rolls-Royce on the hoof. On the horse's back rode a man swathed in a heavy black cape. Jane could make out spurred boots

and a sheathed sword riding on his left hip. A knight, she realized.

"The perfect accessory, found on better warhorses everywhere," she muttered sarcastically.

When the horse halted before the tower door the rider threw back his hood, revealing a great deal of long dark hair. He looked up toward the window, and she saw a starkly handsome face. Jane caught her breath and corrected herself. His attractiveness wasn't so much stark as it was minimalist, as though a brilliant artist had sketched an ideal of masculine beauty in simple, bold lines. He was also young, she realized, eighteen, maybe nineteen. When he jumped lightly down from the horse she saw that he was taller than she'd expected a man of his time to be. He was long and slender; his body looked to be wiry and strong, but not quite finished. The young man's col-oring was all dark and light, pale skin contrasting with blue-black hair and brows.

Even as she stared at this remarkably handsome young man, she was asking herself what she was going to do. What would a Norman lady do? Go out and face the armed foe or cower in terror? She was personally rather in favor of cowering, but there wasn't anywhere in this bare tower to hide. She backed away from the window.

Besides, she added in thought, lifting her head proudly, she wasn't very good at cowering. If Wolfe hadn't been drunk— Forget about it. That was in the past—future.

"I can see tenses are going to be a real problem from now on," she muttered. Men in armor might be more of an immediate danger, she reminded herself, getting a firm hold on her nerves. She was apparently going to have to live in this world, so she might as well get on with it. If she didn't get on with it she might as well curl up and die right there and then.

She adjusted her headgear, flicked some dried mud off her green cape, and forced herself to walk down the stairs, her long skirts trailing gracefully behind her.

The knight was standing inside the doorway by the time she reached the bottom of the circular staircase.

When she paused on the second step, Jane found her-self meeting a pair of intense black eyes. From the dis-tance of the tower window she'd thought the young man's features ascetic, but the expression she saw in his dark-fringed eyes hinted at passion far from any religious calling. And his mouth was amazing, almost too wide for the narrowing face, the lips almost too thin, yet wondrously expressive. As he gazed up the stairs at her, he was managing to convey interest, a hint of worldly sophistication that said he appreciated what he was seeing, and a bit of reassurance, all with only a hint of a smile. Jane found

herself smiling, rather shyly, back.

He put his hands on his narrow hips and said, "I see Arnulf was wrong."

Jane's smile turned into a grin, not at the man's words, but because she had no trouble understanding them. He spoke langue d'oil. Staying put on the stairs, she questioned, "Arnulf?"

The young knight's smile widened. "My swine-herd," he explained. "He came running to the reeve, and the reeve came running to me. It seems the lad claimed he saw a giantess, or a man dressed as a fine lady." His eyes sparkled as he surveyed her critically, his smile never wavering. "I see no giant, though I may not be a fair judge, being so long-shanked myself.

Nor do I see a man garbed as a woman. I've seen such oddness at Christmas revels; I don't think your soft curves are padding."

Jane felt herself blush, and for the first time in her life she found the warm sensation rather pleasant. "No, my lord," she answered. "I'm quite all me. I'm afraid I can't help being tall, or my deep voice."

"A pleasant voice," he assured her easily. "But I do wonder why a beautiful lady is hiding in this old ruin."

"I'm not hiding," Jane declared, trying to think of an explanation of why she was here. "I'm lost."

"Lost? A lady as lovely as you should be lost in a bower of roses."

"And you're a flatterer," Jane told him with a chuckle. And she was glad of it. Far better that her first encounter in this world be with this charming young man than with some hulk with a sword in his hand.

His sword and spurs and the horse outside told her he was a warrior, but she also felt instantly at ease with him. Maybe it was the smile.

"I should hope so," he responded to her. "I've been well trained in the flattering of ladies. Though of late I've had little practice. "He stepped forward, gestur-ing toward the stairs."Perhaps we could sit awhile and talk of the world beyond this lonely tower."

He seated himself next to her feet, gazing up at her expectantly, rather like a friendly, black-eyed hunting hound. Jane hesitated for only a moment before eas-ing down next to him. "I am Sir Stephan DuVrai," he introduced himself. "Lord ofPassfairCastle. And of this crumbling ruin as well," he added, waving his hand as though apologizing for the building's defi-ciencies. "Though this wood is more often used as a pig pasture than for housing guests."

Jane looked at her toes, encased in stiffening damp leather. Tucking her hands into her sleeves, she confessed, "My lord, I have no idea where I am. My name . . ." She hadn't thought about what she would say when confronted by the natives; Wolfe certainly hadn't thought about it.

She couldn't very well explain that she'd been minding her own business monitoring a Time Search screen on a rainy night in 2002 when she'd acciden-tally gotten a glimpse of the future. Or that her crazy boss had used the accident as an excuse to toss her into his experimental time machine.

But she did have an explanation ready, she realized suddenly. She'd spent years playacting a role in the Medievalist Society. She had a persona she slipped into when the club did living history demos.

"I am Jehane FitzRose," she told DuVrai. She bowed her head sadly, just the way she did when

explaining to curious high school kids. "A widow. My husband and father died in theHoly Land. That's where I'm from," she added. "I was born in thekingdomofJerusalem." She could only hope she'd landed in the right period for her story to sound authentic.

"Jerusalem." The young knight sounded impressed. "That would explain your accent. I confess, some of your words are a bit hard to understand."

It's my midwestern twang, she thought. Looking up at Stephan demurely, she went on, "My father was a native of this land. He left his father's lands to go on

Crusade, a younger son seeking his fortune," she explained.

Stephan nodded his understanding.

Jane warmed to the subject. "He did well and set-tled inPalestine. I was his only child, so he married me to a knight he thought of as a son. I was very happy with Geoffrey." She sighed and gave a fatalis-tic shrug. "But the Saracens ..."

"They killed your family? Overran your land?"

"Something like that," Jane agreed. "I was alone in the world." Outside she could hear the horse pawing the ground restlessly.

Stephan cocked his head to listen to the animal for a moment, then said, "Go on. Lady Jehane."

"I couldn't stay inPalestine."

"Far too dangerous for a woman alone," he agreed. "Far too dangerous for any but the bravest Christians since the late king's Crusade failed. I've heard many horror stories about that war from my father."

Jane's fingers began to itch for her pocket word processor. She'd thought picking up random data from the time monitor had been fun. Now, here she was talking to a living history book—a book with a very nice cover—and she didn't dare ask him specif-ic questions. In fact, she was the one being ques-tioned, and she had to be very cautious in her answers.

"The late king," she went on tentatively. "Richard?" Stephan nodded. Late? Like in d-e-a-d? Richard the Lion Heart was
dead.
Her head spun with confu-sion. That was wrong. No, she was wrong. In the wrong time. She was supposed to show up at Fontrevault in 1168, long
before
the Lion Heart was king. Where had Wolfe plunked her down? What was she going to do? Where would she go?

"Where am I?" she heard herself say, her voice a frightened rasp. Sir Stephan put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

She tried to take up the thread of Jehane's story before she broke into sobs, trying to shape her club persona to fit conjectured circumstance. "I . . . and my maid and two men-at-arms left theHoly Land. We brought all we had with us. I was widowed, but not impoverished. We made the journey in slow stages.

There was illness; my maid died, then one of the sol-diers. I was ill on the Channel crossing. I don't know what port—"

"Dover?" Stephan suggested. "Reculver? It's the nearest to Passfair."

Jane gave a confused shake of her head. "I know nothing ofEngland, and I was feverish. I don't remember much of the journey. My last retainer— he'd been with my father all his life—he was bringing me to my grandfather's estate. Apparently it was destroyed, or had changed hands. Perhaps he didn't even remember where it was. He was quite old. We grew lost. I don't know how I got here or where he went. When I woke up this morning I felt better." She looked gratefully at Sir Stephan. "Then you came."

She didn't recognize the other town he'd men-tioned, but she knewDoverwas in the south ofEng-land. It had been the main Channel port before the tunnel opened a few years ago. She was also realizing how dangerous it was for her to be running around loose in this time. She knew too little. And too much.

Knowing the period as she did would certainly help her survive, or at least cope. But she was a danger to the future, or could be if she said even a few wrong words to the wrong person. She knew the politics and the power struggles of theNormansbetter than they did. It was as dangerous for her to be able to reveal what was going to happen five years from this date as it was for her to reveal what was going to happen five years ahead in her own time. In all her studies she'd never come across any mention of a Sir Stephan DuVrai. Perhaps an encounter with him wouldn't matter. But what if she met someone famous?

Wolfe had been right in one thing: she was going to have to hide herself away. She needed to be somewhere she could live in silence and obscurity. Somewhere the world would be safe from Dr. Jane Florian.

"A convent," she said sharply.

Stephan almost jumped at her tone. "What?"

"A convent, an abbey, a priory, a—" She caught herself and took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down, to remember she was now Jehane FitzRose. She took her hands out of her sleeves and folded them on her lap, trying for an imitation of serenity. "I should like to take holy vows," she told the young knight. "I wish only to escape this world."

"Oh." He looked a bit unhappy at the thought. "If you must. I've no great love for the Church myself, but

..." His wide mouth flattened in a sud-den frown, the heavy brows lowering. "No, you can't. Foolish of me of all people to forget."

Jane stared. "No? Why not?" she asked suspiciously.

"The damned king's being excommunicated again. By the archbishop ofCanterburythis time. You've chosen a holy calling at an unholy time," he explained.

Jane threw her hands in the air, annoyed with Wolfe's bad timing. "Don't tell me—John's king ofEngland and the country's under interdict. No mass-es, no burials in consecrated ground, no marriages, no sacraments at all."

"That is the usual procedure," he agreed dryly. "And our king's turning the clergy out of their hold-ings as well, at least all the ones nearCanterbury. There's nowhere for you to be a nun just now, at least not nearby. I hope you don't want it too badly," he added with a boyishly charming smile.

"It would be best for me." She sighed and got up to pace across the cold stone floor of the tower. "What am I supposed to do now?"