Twelfth Night (2 page)

“What the devil are you doing out here on the
road?” demanded a hard, masculine voice.

“I don’t know,” Aline stammered. “I think I’m
lost.”

“You’re no peasant, not with that noble
accent, not with a silver clasp on your cloak. Where are your
servants?”

“What servants?” Aline’s teeth had begun to
chatter. “It’s freezing out here. Can you tell me where I might go
to get warm?”

Behind the man who had spoken to her, a troop
of horsemen now drew up to await the pleasure of their leader.
Through the snow and the gathering darkness Aline could just barely
see them. They were well muffled into their cloaks, but here and
there she noted the gleam of metal.

They were wearing armor. The leader had a
sword belted at his side. From his mounted height he looked down at
Aline while his men waited and her confusion grew deeper.

“In this countryside, there is only one place
for a lady to go,” the man said. “You will ride with us to Shotley
Castle. Give me your hand and put your foot on mine.” He edged his
horse closer to Aline and bent toward her, extending his hand.

Aline had never been on a horse in her life
and she was terrified of this particular huge, restless creature.
Yet something in the man’s voice made her obey his command.

She put her hand into his, and when he lifted
her upward she placed her foot on his mailed boot, momentarily
resting her weight there. Then, in a flurry of cape and skirt she
was seated before him. The horse moved forward suddenly and Aline
thought she would fall to the ground. Her gasp of fear brought a
pair of strong arms around her.

“Have no fear, I’ll keep you safe,” the
horseman told her.

“How far away is this Shotley Castle?” she
asked, wondering if she would be able to stay on the horse for more
than a few feet.

“It is not far.”

“That’s hardly an answer.” Perhaps there
would be a telephone at this so-called castle, and she could call
Luce for directions on how to get home. Then she realized she
didn’t have her purse, and thus no money, no identification…
nothing except the clothes she wore. “When we get there, will they
let me stay?”

“I have no doubt of it, my lady”

“Who are you?” she asked, struck by the term
my lady
. “Where am I?”

“I am Adam of Shotley, baron of that castle,
returning from my forty days of service to my king. You are on my
road. Now, my lady, tell me your name and what you are doing alone
on such a night.”

“I’m Aline Bennett. Where is Shotley
Castle?”

“Just a short distance along this road,” he
answered. “We will be safe at home before the worst of the storm
strikes.”

“No, I mean in what state are we?
Where
are we?” She couldn’t remember leaving the library,
but perhaps she’d gotten lost in the snowstorm and driven her car
off an icy road. She could have hit her head. She might have a
concussion. That would explain why she was so confused. But she
didn’t have a headache and she wasn’t thinking in a confused way;
it was just that her surroundings had shifted with a suddenness she
couldn’t understand.

“State?” Adam of Shotley sounded puzzled by
her question. Aline wished she could see him clearly but, like
Aline and his men, he had raised the hood of his cloak against the
cold, and the light was by now so dim that his face was only a pale
blur in the shadow of dark fabric.

“Do you mean, what country are you in? This
is England,” he said. “How could you not know that?”

“I guess I really am lost,” she said, trying
to hide her growing fear with flippancy. “The last time I checked,
I was in Connecticut.” How could she have crossed the Atlantic
without knowing it? What in the name of heaven was going on?

“Were you set upon by thieves, here on my
land?” Adam asked. “If you were, I promise, I’ll find the brigands
and see them publicly hanged.”

“Hanged?” she repeated, stunned by this
idea.

“I assure you, where a lady’s safety is
concerned, I will not be remiss. Did they harm your servants, or
did the varlets run away, leaving you to the mercy of outlaws?”

“Wait, please!” Aline cried. “I don’t
understand what you’re talking about.”

“I am saying that in my barony I will have
justice, and safety for all women.”

“You needn’t hang anyone on my account,
“Aline said, still trying to make sense of this insane
conversation. “I don’t know exactly what happened, but whatever it
was, I don’t think it was a hanging offense.” She paused a moment,
trying to organize her thoughts. “I don’t suppose you could tell me
what day it is, could you?”

“Certainly. It is but two days before the
holy Christ Mass, which is why we are in such a hurry to reach
home.”

“December twenty-third,” she murmured. “Well,
that’s correct, at least. You mentioned a king you were
serving?”

“King Henry,” he replied.

“Which Henry?”

“He is the first of that name. Do you know
another King Henry?”

“Eight of them, in England,” she responded
wryly, adding, “Forty days of service to King Henry I?”

“That is correct.” He must have felt the way
she was shaking, for he tightened his arms around her. “Lady Aline,
what is wrong?”

“I can’t explain it right now,” she said in a
tense voice. ”Perhaps later.”

“Are you running away from your husband?” he
asked. “Or from your father? I cannot shelter for more than one
night a woman who is fleeing her true lord and master. If this is
your case, I am obliged to send notice to your lord at once.”

“My grandfather was my only blood male
relative,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “and we buried
him this morning.”

“Well, then.” He did not loosen his hold on
her, but his grip changed in some subtle way, as if he would be
more gentle with her. “If you are distraught with grief at your
grandsire’s death, then I will not tease you with more questions.
You may explain your unheralded presence on my land to me when you
are ready.”

I will explain it to you, Adam of
Shotley
, Aline thought,
when I understand it myself
.

They found a lowered drawbridge awaiting them
at Shotley Castle and flaming torches set at either side of the
portcullis. The horses clattered across the drawbridge and through
a narrow, tunnel-like entrance into the outer bailey, which was
well lit with odorous pitch torches and crowded with folk in undyed
woolen clothing who called out to Baron Adam and his men. Aline
barely had time to note that the cheerfulness in their voices
sounded genuine before they were riding through another gateway and
into the inner bailey. Here Adam dismounted, tossed the reins to a
lad who hurried up to take them, and then raised his arms to
Aline.

“Come,” he said, “I’ll bear you safe to the
ground.”

If she wanted to get off the horse without
breaking her neck in the process, Aline could see no other choice
but to do as he ordered. She let herself fall downward into Adam’s
arms. She wasn’t graceful about it. She landed hard against his
chest and felt him rock back on his heels when her full weight hit
him before he steadied himself and her.

“Lady,” he said, releasing her from his
embrace, “I think you do not care much for horses.”

“They are so big,” she said. “They have such
large teeth.” She heard him chuckle at that.

“I do believe you and my daughter-in-law will
find you have much in common,” he told her. “Constance rides but
poorly, and she dislikes the hunt.”

“Does she?” Aline’s response was
absent-minded, for she was looking around the inner bailey. A few
dogs were running loose, barking and jumping up on some of the men,
who bestowed pats on the hounds or scratched their ears with
familiar affection. Off to the side of the bailey several buildings
had been constructed against the surrounding wall. One of them was
obviously a stable; the horses were being led away toward its wide
doorway. By the armored men moving in and out of another building,
it seemed to be a barracks. Aline discerned a small stone chapel
and a walled enclosure with a tree inside it.

“That will be the herb and kitchen garden,”
she murmured, before she caught her breath and fell silent.

It was real
. The people and animals
she saw were alive, not phantoms from her imagination. The narrow,
unrailed stairway up which Adam was leading her was real stone, as
was the frame of the doorway at the top of the steps. The guards in
the entry hall were wearing actual chain-mail tunics. They all had
swords. And when Adam doffed his cloak and handed it to a waiting
servant, Aline saw that he was wearing a full suit of chain-mail
armor. A long sword hung from his gilded red leather belt.

“Come into the great hall,” he said, taking
her arm.

The entrance was through a low, rounded arch.
Stout wooden double doors had been flung wide, but Aline noticed
the metal bolt that could secure the doors against invaders. Then
she and Adam were inside the hall and she paused, surprised by its
cleanliness and its grandeur.

The walls were grey stone, the high pitched
roof was faced with wooden planks, and the massive roof beams
looked as if they had been hacked from entire tree trunks. Banners
hung from most of the beams, their tattered condition suggesting to
Aline that they were either very old or else were battle trophies.
A few bright tapestries decorated the walls, and wooden chests held
a fine display of silver ewers, basins, or serving platters. At
each end of the hall, flames roared in giant open fireplaces. At
the far end of the room, close to one of the fireplaces, was a
raised dais with several chairs and a long table.

“Welcome to Shotley, Lady Aline.” Adam pulled
off his mail gloves and pushed back his coif, letting the chain
mail fall into a cowl around his neck. He took two goblets a
servant offered from a tray and turned to give one of the goblets
to Aline. At last, in the firelight and the torchlight, she could
see him clearly.

“This will warm you.” Their fingers touched
as she accepted the goblet from him. Most definitely, he was real,
his hands strong and callused as befitted a warrior.

The wine was hot and well spiced with
cinnamon and cloves. Aline sipped daintily, watching her host.

His hair must have been dark in his youth,
but it was heavily threaded with grey. His features were rather
plain, with a long nose and deep lines on either side of his mouth.
His eyes were grey. He was not especially tall, but Aline wasn’t
surprised by this. In the museums she and Gramps had explored
together, she had seen enough suits of armor to know the men of
earlier times were not as tall as modern men.

She guessed his age to be somewhere in his
early forties. He had mentioned a daughter-in-law, which meant he
had a grown son. Noblemen were usually knighted at twenty-one, and
seldom married before that time. So, if he had married at
twenty-one, had a son at twenty-two, and that son was old enough to
marry, Adam must be –

“Oh, dear heaven,” she said, “I’m beginning
to believe this is happening and that I’m really here.”

“You do appear to me to be here,” Adam told
her. When he smiled his face took on a virile warmth that had
nothing to do with youth or perfection of feature. Recalling the
solid touch of his fingers against hers and the encircling strength
of his arms, Aline felt her anxiety level rise by several
degrees.

“Have I gone off the deep end?” she
whispered, asking the question more of herself than of him.
“Wouldn’t you think a thirty-four-year-old, supposedly intelligent
woman could handle her grandfather’s death without this kind of
extreme overreaction? But still, how can anyone ever be prepared to
lose a loved one? He was father and mother to Luce and me since our
parents died. I wish he were here now. He’d know what to do.”
Suddenly aware that she was muttering beneath her breath and that
Adam’s smile had been replaced by a puzzled expression, she fell
silent, with one hand at her mouth.

“My lady, I do not understand what you are
saying.” Adam’s words raised an interesting question.

“But I understand every word you say. Why?”
Aline stared at him. “I can only read a few words of modern French,
let alone speak it well, so how can I be talking in perfect Norman
French with you? That must be what we are speaking, since you claim
to be a Norman baron. If what is happening to me is real and not a
dream or a form of madness, then I ought not to understand you at
all. Yet I do.”

“I think you are frightened and overtired and
deeply affected by grief. You need to rest.” Adam looked around the
hall, then motioned to a servant. “Where is Lady Constance? Send
her to me at once.”

“I’m either crazy, or I’m dreaming,” Aline
decided. “Either way, I’m stuck in the twelfth century. I know what
Gramps would do; he’d tell me to get into the spirit of the game.
All right, I’ll play along and see what happens.”

“Come nearer to the fire.” Adam’s hand was at
her elbow again. “Take off your cloak; you will warm faster without
it.”

She let him remove the cape from her
shoulders, then stood close to the flames while she drank more of
the spiced wine. She saw Adam looking at her clothing and was glad
she was soberly dressed. Luce had criticized her dress as too long,
but Aline had worn it anyway, saying it was appropriate for a
funeral. Fortunately, it was not terribly wrong for the twelfth
century. The skirt of deep burgundy wool flared into folds at the
belted waist and hung nearly to her ankles. She wore sheer black
tights and low-heeled black pumps. The dress had long, tight
sleeves and a bodice that draped into a v-neckline. Adam looked her
over quickly, not missing the long column of throat revealed by the
neckline. When she lifted one hand to her throat, he raised his
eyes to hers.