B008AZB1XW EBOK (6 page)

Chapter Six

Elizabeth’s arms shot up over her head in the most immediate surrender ever. “I’m sorry!”

The men with the guns were shouting at her in some language she didn’t recognize. The one she’d tripped had been helped up and was in turn yelling at them and waving his pistol around like he was going to shoot out every light in the room. People near them chattered in excitement. Next to her, Jack had his arms raised too, but he looked incredibly unconcerned and maybe even a little amused.

The one she’d tripped looked like something out of a Mel Brooks movie, which would have been hilarious if her heart weren’t lodged in her throat. Her life, which was more of a short than a feature, flashed before her eyes. The man jabbed his gun toward her and berated one of the men at his side. The large golden starburst medals on his chest dangled from ribbons almost as bilious as his uniform. Epaulets the size of dinner plates with long fringe shook as he straightened his back, re-holstered his gun and regained his composure with a haughty flourish.

“It’s all right!” Jack yelled above the din. When the bodyguards shifted their attention to him, he added, “
Il s’agissait d’un accident. Sa chaussure. Erreur
. False alarm. It’s all right!”

That seemed to instantly deflate the interest of the crowd, but the effect wasn’t so immediate on the men with the big guns. Elizabeth kept her eyes trained on the men and their guns, mostly the guns.

“Elizabeth!” That was Simon’s voice. He was somewhere in the crowd, but she didn’t dare look away.

Two of the men with shotguns stepped forward and crowded Elizabeth into the wall. One of them grabbed her arm. “You will come with us.”

Jack quickly stepped between them and eased the man’s hand off her arm. “It was an accident. We’re very sorry, your majesty.
Il s’agissait d’un accident.
Please accept our apologies.
Unë jam i keq.”

Elizabeth’s stomach did a half-gainer. Your majesty? Of course. She’d managed to trip a king.

The bodyguards glared at them both. His majesty said something to them in a language Elizabeth didn’t recognize — it sounded like a mixture of Russian, Greek and somewhere in the Middle East — and the two men stepped back making room for the king.

Jack bowed deeply at the waist. “Your Majesty,” he said and gave Elizabeth a good sharp jab in the ribs. “Your Majesty.”

She curtseyed quickly and kept her eyes deferentially glued to the floor. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I’m really, really sorry.” She’d been in London for less than an hour and she’d already insulted a king and had guns pulled on her. Simon was never going to let her forget this one.

Jack said something in French to the men. They frowned in unison. He pointed toward her shoe that had skittered across the floor and come to rest at the edge of the gathered crowd.

Simon finally pushed his way through the crowd just as Jack pointed to her shoe. He knelt down and picked it up. Cautiously he brought it back to Elizabeth. “What have you done?” he said under his breath.

Jack continued to explain in French and eventually the king narrowed his eyes and then huffed out an indignant breath. Jack spoke very quickly. One year of high school French wasn’t helping Elizabeth very much, but apparently, Simon could understand and something Jack said made him swallow a laugh.

The king arched his back and tugged at the end of his perfectly waxed mustache, but listened with growing interest. He wasn’t exactly warming up, but whatever Jack said brought out the gentleman in him and some sort of agreement was reached. The king regarded her briefly. His foppish outfit and ridiculous frown faded away and she saw the sincere man beneath. The human connection flickered and died and the supreme ruler returned. He gave her a perfunctory bow, waved his hand at his entourage and then continued on his way as though nothing had happened.

Jack waited until the king and his retinue were out of earshot before turning to Elizabeth and Simon. He stuck out his hand. “You must be Simon. I’m Jack.”

Simon warily shook his hand. “Would someone like to tell me what in God’s name just happened?” He turned to Elizabeth and held out the offending shoe.

Elizabeth took it sheepishly. “It slipped.” She held onto Simon’s shoulder for balance while she slipped her shoe back on. “Who was that I almost killed and who almost killed me?”

“The King of Albania,” Jack said. “He’s wound a little tight, but after a few dozen assassination attempts, I would be too.”

Elizabeth went cold. She was lucky he hadn’t shot her, or had her shot, or imprisoned in some Albanian castle. Did Albania have castles? Where was Albania anyway?

“Are you all right?” Simon asked.

“I’m okay, just the first time I’ve tripped a king.” She exhaled at the thought.

Jack laughed. “You made quite an impression.”

“She always does,” Simon said. “Thank you for interceding on her behalf. But about that last bit…”

Jack tugged on his ear. “Yeah, I might have gotten carried away there. But, it was that or the firing squad.”

Elizabeth couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. Her heart had only just finished its drum solo. “What last bit?”

“My French is a little rusty,” Simon said, “but I think he said that you were pregnant and as a grateful gesture for his beneficence would name the child after him.”

“I’m afraid to ask,” Elizabeth said.

Jack winced. “Zog.”

“Come again?”

Jack laughed. “That’s his name. King Zog.”

“Well, it is memorable.” In a “please push me off the jungle gym” sort of way.

“In a matter of mere minutes,” Simon said, “you managed to cause an international incident and relegate our poor future child to a life of hardship and ridicule. That’s impressive by any standards.”

“It’s these darn sensible shoes!” she said wiggling the offensive footwear.

“Well, you’d better find a way to keep them on your feet, I’m afraid. Even before your exchange with the king, we were sadly out of luck here. No rooms. We might try Claridge’s.”

Jack shook his head. “The city’s lousy with royals in exile, generals, diplomats and Romanovs who may or may not be Romanovs. Be the same story at Claridge’s. You can try, but forget the Savoy, Grosvenor House, Berkeley and the Dorchester too.”

“There must be something,” Elizabeth said. That was one of the problems with time travel; it was impossible to make reservations.

“You might try Browns or Dukes. They might have something, but really you’re better off in Knightsbridge or Kensington. Won’t be as posh, but it’s not too bad.”

“What do you think?” Elizabeth asked Simon.

“I’m not sure we have much choice in the matter. I should have realized the hotels would be like this.”

“We did have a lot on our minds.”

Jack cleared his throat uncomfortably. He must have thought she was referring to their wedding night. The realization made Elizabeth blush, which only made matters worse.

“There’s my date,” Jack said with a grin. He smiled down at Elizabeth. “It was fun.”

From the gleam in his eye, he really meant that. “Thank you,” she said and then placed her hand over her stomach. “And little Zog thanks you too.”

Jack laughed and shook hands again with Simon. He picked up his overcoat from the back of a chair and waved toward a leggy redhead across the room. His date was apparently Jessica Rabbit. He took a few steps away and turned back and said, “Keep your head down and your shoes on, all right?”

Elizabeth watched Jack disappear into the crowd and turned to Simon.

“Ready?” Simon said as he picked up their suitcase. He gestured for her to go first and followed her toward the door. “Fictional or not. We are not naming our baby Zog.”

~~~

By the time they’d walked to Knightsbridge, Elizabeth’s feet genuinely hurt, but there was no way she was taking her shoes off in public, no matter how much they ached. They passed by Harrod’s Department Store and Simon promised they’d try to get her a new pair in the morning.

The first two bedsits were full and it was well after ten in the evening when they finally found a small room to rent at a bed and breakfast. The carpet was loud and the walls were quiet, but it was clean and available. The furnishings were simple, but functional. One hard occasional chair that had seen more than the occasional visitor huddled next to a small table. A small dressing table and a wardrobe that had definite left leanings took up the rest of the room.

After settling in and cleaning up a bit, it was late and the lumpy double-bed and scratchy starched sheets looked pretty appealing. They shared the bath down the hall with the other five people on their floor, every one of whom seemingly had to go at the same time as she did. Elizabeth waited in line in the hall and made small talk with a woman who’d been bombed out twice already — once during the blitz and again a few weeks ago.

Finally, it was Elizabeth’s turn and she washed up quickly in the cold bathroom and even colder water. By this time, the hot water was long gone. She said her goodnights to the rest of the line and hurried down the cold dark hall to their cold dark room.

Simon was just getting into bed when she came in.

“All right?” he asked as he pulled back the covers.

“Cold.” Elizabeth took off her overcoat that was subbing for a robe and laid it over the back of the chair.

“What on earth are you wearing?”

Elizabeth did her best imitation of a fifties pin-up. “Do you like it?”

“It’s entirely impractical and hardly period,” he said with a frown as his eyes took in all she had to offer. “And, yes, very much.”

Elizabeth giggled and dove under the covers. The room had a small radiator, but it only gave off heat for a whopping two-foot radius. “The other one was too long. I’d wake up strangled by my own clothes.”

Simon started to argue the logic of that statement, but apparently thought better of it. Judging from his expression, he was definitely pleasantly surprised by her clothes or lack of them.

“Besides, the other one barely fit in the suitcase. This one takes up hardly any room at all.”

Simon grinned. “In that case.” He slid under the covers next to her.

Elizabeth cuddled up to Simon’s warmth. He always ran hot and she loved curling up next to him.

“Good Lord!” he said. “Your feet are like bricks of ice.”

“I know,” Elizabeth said as she rubbed them against the warmth of his legs.

“Stop that.”

Elizabeth settled for rubbing her feet against the sheets instead and snuggled up against Simon’s side. Her left hand came to rest on his chest and the wedding ring caught the light from the bedside lamp. She rubbed the band with her thumb.

“Feels odd, doesn’t it, to be wearing these again?”

Simon didn’t reply at first. After a moment, he covered her hand with his. “Does it?”

“Just that these are the same rings and this room is a lot like that first room we shared in New York. It’s all the same and yet completely different.”

His long fingers traced out random patterns on the back of her hand.

Elizabeth rolled over and edged her way onto his chest, resting her head on her laced hands. “I’m glad we’re here. I know what we’re doing is the right thing. But more than that I’m glad we’re here together.”

Simon caressed her cheek gently. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. I don’t want it
to be
any other way.”

Elizabeth closed the gap of inches that separated them and kissed him. She would never get tired of the way he held her when they kissed. Strong and loving, passionate and gentle. It was the safest place on earth.

After a moment, Simon leaned over and shut off the light plunging them into complete darkness. The blackout curtains on the windows kept out any ambient light and only the thinnest sliver of light from the hall crept under the door. The darkness was so absolute it made her shiver.

Simon kissed her again. “All right?”

She’d never been scared of the dark before, but then she’d never experienced dark quite like this. Putting aside the idea that she’d discovered a latent phobia, Elizabeth returned Simon’s kiss and settled into his arms, but the chill of the dark never quite went away.

Chapter Seven

Elizabeth wasn’t a fan of hospitals, even modern day ones. She’d always envisioned older hospitals as a cross between a torture chamber and a Romanian insane asylum. Guy’s Hospital wasn’t nearly that bad. The nurses’ uniforms were crisp and white and they even wore little pinafore aprons and caps that looked like miniature nun’s habits. Guy’s was orderly and enormous, but she was still glad she wasn’t a patient there. Germs were waging their own war in the hospital wards. Sanitary conditions had a long way to go and antibiotics hadn’t even been discovered yet.

Despite all of that, Guy’s was impressive. At least a dozen interconnected buildings sat behind a huge expanse of lawn and a forbidding, spiked iron gate. Inside it was cavernous and dark and overflowing with patients. It took them quite a while to find the wing that held patients with head injuries. When they saw men shuffling down the corridors in white gowns with huge bandage turbans on their heads, they knew they’d come to the right place.

It was more than a little horrifying, but Elizabeth managed to concentrate on the mission, on why they’d come. Somewhere in this enormous place was Evan Eldridge and they were there to bring him home. After a few inquiries, they were finally directed to an office in the Southwark Wing and any dreams of walking out the door with Evan today were immediately dashed. Present or past, red tape was red tape, and apparently, the English took great comfort in the structure it provided.

“We’re here to see a patient. An older man about six feet, silver hair?” Elizabeth asked the duty nurse.

The woman didn’t look up from her paperwork. “Name?”

“He has a head injury, I’m not sure he remembers it,” Elizabeth said.

“Name?”

“Evan Eldridge.”

The nurse flipped through the pages of a large ledger, made a short notation and then held up a clipboard with a raft of papers. “Fill these out.”

“He is here then?” She’d been so afraid that his memory was completely lost. It was wonderful news if he remembered his name.