Chapter Seventeen

 

“I want to know exactly how you fled the bishop’s men that night, Paulette,” Moncrieff demanded around a mouthful of Brie slathered on crusty brown bread. They sat around the large oak table in Percivale Castle’s main hall. A pile of blazing logs crackled in the huge stone fireplace. Thomas was abed upstairs in his old room recovering from his wounds, while the rest of his co-conspirators tried to sort out their situation.

“I awoke when I heard my mother screaming,” Paulette began, shivering in the warm room from the memories of that night. “When I stepped into the corridor I saw several rush towards my parents’ bedchamber. Some second sense told me to hide, so I threw a piece of charcoal from the brazier onto my pallet and climbed out the window onto the ledge, closing the shutters after me. I huddled there, freezing cold in my linen shift, and listened while they broke down the door. They cried out like babies when they encountered a room filled with smoke and flame. It took them forever to organize the servants to douse the fire. When they were busy with that task, I climbed down some chinks in the wall and ran off to the stables.

She took a gulp of ale and wiped the froth on her sleeve. She was still dressed in her tight acrobat breeches and belted tunic, her hair a tangled mess, and Marian was having difficulty thinking of her as a girl.

“Anyway, I knew where the stable boy kept an extra tunic and breeches in an empty stall, so I donned them, cut off my hair with a nearby knife, and walked out the garden gate into the bailey. It took no skill at all to mingle with the chaos and sneak out the postern gate.”

She looked straight at David and continued. “I was lucky enough to find a traveling troupe of jongleurs and acrobats encamped in the woods nearby, and even more fortunate to discover that they were in need of a new acrobat, the last one having departed on the arm of the tavern wench at the Thorny Branch.” She laughed.

“He, I mean she, introduced herself as Paul Curdy,” David said with a faint smile. “She was as filthy as any young lad I had ever met, and her jumpy manner indicated she was in trouble. I was in dire need of an agile youth to complete our act so I could fulfill our summer obligations, however, so I did not ask too many questions.” He cast a guilty look in Brother Stephen’s direction.

“Quite ingenious, Paulette,” Brother Stephen said. “The wits that often got you into trouble here at Percivale Castle seem to have worked to your advantage on your travels.”

“’Twas a grand adventure,” Paulette said with a wistful smile, “but now that I am home, will I be forced once again to don a kirtle and veil? Or can I continue to dress like a lad? Like Marian does.”

Marian choked on a swallow of ale and Brother Stephen came to her rescue with a well-placed slap on the back.

“I refuse to answer that question,” Marian said wisely. “What I want to know is how Brother Stephen convinced King Henry of the bishop’s treachery in time to ride to our rescue.”

“T’was simple, but not inexpensive,” he began. “By the time I arrived in London, King Henry had already been swayed by the barons to punish Ranulf Flambard for the crimes he committed as his brother’s Exchequer. That was the fortunate part. However, he saw no need for haste. This was an old problem of the realm, after all, and he was newly enthroned. He was quite content to enjoy his new status for a while before he arrested Flambard. Yet I knew Thomas would never be able to patiently wait at Dagmar’s until I came for him. Patience has never been a strong suit for any Percivale ‘cept Richard, God rest his soul.” The monk made the sign of the cross before he continued. “Happily, ‘tis common knowledge that the new king harbors a grand passion for all manner of animals—the more exotic the better. A gift of the priceless Hexham bestiary the brothers and I had been working on for the past year was all it took to gain his permission to act sooner rather than later.”

“A bestiary. Fancy that,” Gil chimed in.

“I wish I could have seen it. It must have been truly grand, what with the elephants, and peacocks, and such,” Chrétien sighed. “Some day I hope to see such marvels. Mayhap I shall even write about them!”

Marian smiled at Chrétien in encouragement.

A wicked grin appeared on the burly monk’s face and he winked at Marian. “Of course, it did not hurt our cause that the knights you saw with me at Durham owed me several small favors.”

“Of course not,” Marian replied with a laugh, rising from her seat. “I believe it is time I checked on Thomas.”

Someone had lit candles on the tables at either side of his four-poster bed casting a soft glow over his sleeping face. At first she did not want to disturb his slumber and moved to back out the door, but his raspy voice interrupted her.

“Stay for a while, Marian. I would learn of my fate, and obtain answers to other questions that have been plaguing my unsettled mind.”

Marian perched carefully on the edge of the bed, put a hand to his forehead, and was relieved to find it cool to the touch. He grabbed her hand and pressed his lips to her palm.

“Once again I find I am in your debt for my continued breath,” he said softly. “Abu told me of your marksmanship. Proudly of course. He considers you a testament to his unswerving faith and dedication to Allah. Not to mention his tutelage with the bow and arrow.”

“A lucky shot,” Marian quipped. “For you and for me.” Thomas was more charming and seductive than any man alive. In any time zone. No wonder she had fallen in love with him. She wondered if he cared as deeply for her, of if he still thought her a spy and a liar.

“Luck or not, it seems you are determined to keep me alive, little witch. And with such a resolute protector, who am I to argue.” He smiled then grimaced, as he shifted over to give her more space on the bed.

“Be careful, Thomas, or you’ll open your leg wound. I only stopped the bleeding a few hours ago. It will take weeks to heal properly.”

His only response was to pat the newly-cleared spot next to him with his good arm.

Uttering a sigh of surrender she lifted the covers and gently lay down next to him. They stayed quiet and content for such a long time Marian wondered if Thomas had fallen asleep again. But when she turned her head towards him, she met a dazzling blue stare that melted her heart.

“You said you wanted a medical prognosis,” she blurted out to break the spell. “I am happy to report that your wounds have been cleaned and packed with agrimony. They should be healed enough for you to get out of bed within a few days. You’ll have to use a crutch to support your leg for a while. And no rough action for at least a month or I cannot vouch for your continued good health. Otherwise, I believe you will soon be back to normal.”

“That is good to hear,” he replied in a voice that was barely above a whisper. Still he stared into her eyes.

“As far as other questions you have, ask away,” she mumbled. His unwavering gaze flustered her.

She was afraid of the words he might utter next. Would he send her away now that he had his home back and his death sentence lifted by royal decree? Would he offer her a job as the castle healer out of gratitude and guilt? Would he tell her, it’s been nice, but…?

“I would hear of the chalice, first,” he said simply, sweeping her doubts to the side for the moment.

“The chalice?”

“Yes, the chalice. Did you find it at Durham?”

She tried to look behind his serene visage and find the hidden meaning to his line of questioning.

“Yes, we did. Paul, I mean Paulette, and I found it in the bishop’s chambers.”

“Interesting. Seems that he took an uncommon interest in a mere goblet.”

She chewed on her lower lip, but avoided saying anything further.

“And did you rub it like Aladdin’s lamp to unleash its magic?” he said with a grin.

She scowled.

“No. In all the confusion, it has remained in my sack, unrubbed,” she replied in a sarcastic tone of voice.

He chuckled and then sucked in a breath when it hurt his shoulder.

“Careful,” she chided. “It may hurt you to laugh.”

“That it does, little witch. Although how I will keep a straight face with you around, ‘tis uncertain,” he said with a grin. “But do not try to distract me. I would learn more of the chalice. Why not bring it up here and we can see if it will transport you to the Year of Our Lord 2009?”

Marian tried to see if he was teasing her, but his face had once again assumed the patient look of a scholar. Perhaps he was as interested as she to discover the mystical properties of the chalice. Unfortunately she did not want to return to her time. Not yet, at least. So the chalice was going to remain safely in her sack.

“Um. I, ah, have decided to stick around the here-and-now for the present,” she said, finding a stray crumb on the woven coverlet incredibly interesting. “I have a solemn duty to nurse you back to health. Plus, I want to see how this tale winds down.”

“That pleases me greatly, my lady,” he growled and captured her mouth with his own.

The kiss was undying sweetness coupled with restrained passion. She returned his ardor with a banked desire of her own, careful not to hurt him further, but unable to avoid her own passionate response. As their tongues entwined in a gentle exploration, Marian felt her doubts begin to loosen their stranglehold on her mind. When they broke apart to breathe, she moved away slightly so she could see his eyes. She placed her hand on his cheek.

“When I saw you on the ground bleeding, I suddenly realized there would be no time or place left for me if he killed you,” she said. “Ever since I arrived all I’d wanted was to return to the future. To my own time. My own life. Then, at that moment, when I saw you pinned to the ground, I looked in my heart and realized that a future without you was no future at all.”

She kissed him again and smiled with joy. “I love you, Thomas. With all my heart and soul. I wish to stay here with you in the twelfth century. That is, if you’ll have me.”

“Ah, little witch,” he said with a sigh she hoped was relief. “I thought I could never love again after Jerusalem. I thought that if I could not love God, nothing would suffice. And although I doubt I am worthy of your love, you have rekindled my hope, my desire, my reason for living.”

“I do not want to hear any more of this defeatist talk, Thomas. You are the most caring, generous, brave, logical, smart, strong man in any world.”

“You forgot physically attractive,” he said with a smile and then kissed her once more until she had to agree with his assessment.

“You saved my life, twice, and my soul. I no longer care if you are a spy, a mystic or a jongleur. I love you and want you by my side forever.” He gave her a one-armed hug and then pulled away to meet her glance.

“There is something Brother Stephen gave me at Hexham Abbey and I want you to have it,” he said. He directed her to his satchel atop the trunk at the foot of his bed. She rose and opened it, showing him first one parchment, then another, until he nodded his assent.

“Read it to me,” he whispered. She sat again on the bed and unfurled the parchment.

She looked at him once more then gazed at the illuminated manuscript that depicted a woman and man making love in a variety of poses along the parchment borders. She began to read aloud:

 

THE WANTON MAID

On the head of she who will choose, a drop of gardenia to catch the zephyr and float to him whom she would choose.

On the eyelids of she who will choose, a drop of rose oil to entice him whom she would choose.

On her mouth, a drop of honey, to soften the mouth of him whom she would choose.

On her tongue, a drop of peppermint, to spark the flame in the loins of him whom she would choose.

On her neck, a drop of ambergris, to give the flush of heat to him whom she would choose.

On each breast, a drop of almond milk, to nourish him whom she would choose.

On her stomach, a drop of vetiver to awaken lust in him whom she would choose.

On her mound of mirth, a drop of patchouli to unleash the throbbing serpent in him whom she would choose.

On the lips of her maiden flower, a drop of lilacs to lick for him whom she would choose. For when these drops are combined with her lover’s milk of passion, their union inside her will bring the fruit of happiness and long life to she who will choose, and he whom she has chosen.

 

“I would choose you, my beloved, if you will choose me,” he said looking at her with love in his azure eyes. “Regardless of whether we have honey or peppermint or vetiver. If we have nothing more than the sweetness of our love, I would bring you the fruit of happiness and long life, my darling little witch. And create other lives with you if you will choose me.”

She looked at his face through her tears, not trusting her voice yet to utter the words she harbored so deep in her heart.

“You have taught me that the true, unlimited love between two people transcends all else,” he said, taking her hand in his. “I may spend my entire life trying to understand the mystical nature of God, but I need seek no further to find my one true love. ‘Tis you, Marian Tyler. Will you marry me, heart of my heart?”

Tears flowed like twin waterfalls down her face as she said, “Yes, yes, yes.” Their lips met in a blaze of passion, heedless of his injuries now, and she realized that love could make one moment last forever. Centuries or hours no longer had meaning for her. There was no past nor future. Only the present. Only this moment. One instant of love that could equal an eternity.

“I choose you, Thomas. Now and always,” she murmured against his mouth.

“Always and forever,” he replied.