A Knight in Central Park(31)

“Good luck,” she said in a voice so soft he hardly heard her at all. Then she turned and walked away.

A lump formed in his throat. “I’m just a professor,” he called after her. “No, I take that back. I’m a jerk,” he said even louder. “A certifiable jerk who breaks promises. There. Does that make you feel better?”

She kept right on walking, didn’t even spare a glimpse over her shoulder.

Damn.

He’d never felt so heartless. Who did she think she was, traveling through time, expecting him of all people to take up sword fighting and save her family?

He opened his palm. Other than a few silvery lines, the stone, when turned a certain way, looked just like every other rock. Mind-boggling. Nobody back home was going to believe it when he told them where he’d been.

He turned to look at the smoldering timber and burnt clay that was once Alexandra’s home. His stomach knotted. Then he turned to view the ocean of golden wheat that he would bet Alexandra had planted herself. He walked closer to the wheat. Standing at the edge of the field, he broke a wheat head from its stalk and breathed in its earthy smell.

Where would her family live now? What would they do?

It didn’t matter, he told himself. He didn’t ask for this. He never believed her...who would have?





Chapter Nine



I can’t think of any sorrow in the world that a hot bath wouldn’t help just a little bit.

—Susan Glasee

Within the barn, Alexandra and her sister, Susan, heaved another bag of grain onto the wooden cart, careful not to disturb her grandfather who lay to one side. “That should do it,” Alexandra said, gazing upon Grandfather’s pale face. The effects of the inhaled smoke had taken its toll. “Are you comfortable?”

He gave a slight nod. “We did it, Alexandra, didn’t we?”

She smiled and squeezed his hand. “Aye.”

“Tell me again what you saw in that other world.” He let out a string of coughs. “Was it as I said it would be? Were there flying machines and horseless carriages?”

“It was just as you said Grandfather, but we shan’t talk of all that now. You need your strength. Besides, Sir Joe should be returning at any moment. Most likely he will be furious when he learns he has but a common rock in his possession.”

“Let us not be too hard on him,” the old man said. “Perhaps he has yet to realize his true destiny.”

Her brow furrowed. “What if I brought home the wrong man? What if Sir Joe spoke the truth and he is not The Chosen One? Mayhap Garrett is right and I have made a grave error in judgment.”

Her grandfather gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Do not fret.”

“But what of Mary? Your tales never included rescuing my sister from Radmore’s Keep. To do so would be an impossible feat.”

“Never impossible, my dear. Never impossible. Sir Joe is a clever man. He has already proven himself by saving your brother and me.” Another raspy cough escaped the old man.

“Aye, he did do that.” She tucked Sir Joe’s cape tighter about her grandfather’s frail body before leaving his side.

If they intended to travel by moonlight, they needed to leave. Too much time had passed already. Sir Joe should have returned by now. She recalled the look in his eyes before she’d left him standing near the wheat fields. His wild gaze had told her he needed time to adjust, needed time to come to terms with what had happened to him.

Sliding her fingers within the pocket of the tunic Shelly had given her, she pulled out the very last stone. For a brief moment she considered burying it or tossing it into a nearby stream. Instead, she sighed and returned it to its hiding place. “Susan,” she called. “I am going in search of Sir Joe. Find Garrett and ready Rebecca for traveling. We will leave for the village shortly.”

Alexandra left the barn, taking a shortcut through the wheat fields. The coarse prickly hairs of the husks scraped against her chin and neck as she went. She did not stop until she came to the oak tree where Sir Joe had saved Garrett’s life. She patted its trunk as if it were an old friend.

Sir Joe was nowhere to be seen.

She gazed at the smoldering rubble that was once her home. Clamping her eyes shut, she tried to summon happier times when mother and father were happy; when Grandfather’s mind was sharp and the days were filled with stories and song and a great deal of merriment.

When she opened her eyes again, she noticed a pile of items near the base of the tree. A sharp knife. A box of matches...one of her favorite inventions of the future. Medicine from his time, and other assorted objects that could prove useful on their journey to Radmore Keep.