Until Forever (20 page)

I
t was a shock to appear right on the deck of a ship, with dozens of people all about. Roseleen was so shocked that she had to be yanked out of the way of a sailor with a large barrel hefted on his shoulder, who hadn’t seen her in his path, because she was suddenly
in
his path, when she hadn’t been before.

Thorn did the yanking. And he was chuckling at her expression, wide-eyed and openmouthed—until she rammed an elbow into his stomach.

“This
isn’t
funny,” she told him in a furious whisper. “Do you realize that any one of these people could have seen us just appear out of the thin air? I’m amazed that someone isn’t screaming and pointing fingers at us right now, or calling for a stake and kindling.”

He wrapped his arms around her tightly, more as a protective measure against her elbows than anything else, and whispered back at her, “Be easy, Roseleen. Someone wouldst
merely wonder had they seen this space empty, then so quickly filled. And ’tis highly unlikely we would actually be seen appearing, when these men are so busy preparing the ship for departure. Even were it so, they would be more apt to think they were mistaken in what they see, than to try and explain it to themselves or anyone else.”

He’d brushed aside her worry very nicely, he must be thinking, and since no one
was
pointing fingers or screaming, she had to allow he’d summed up human nature pretty well. And she’d gotten so used to that crack of thunder and flash of lightning whenever he showed up anywhere, even when she was with him, that she didn’t even notice it anymore. But anyone else around would notice, and immediately be looking toward the sky for signs of a storm.

That made it even less likely that their sudden arrival would be seen by anyone. But that didn’t alleviate all of her annoyance with him at the shock she’d experienced, just some of it.

So she grumbled in a low voice, “Remind me to introduce you to television when we get back to my time. Or better yet, I’ll take you for a ride on one of those big birds you saw in the sky that night.”

He heard her, of course. He was too close not to. And she could actually feel his sudden excitement.

“’Tis possible to ride those giant birds?”

She rolled her eyes at his eager question. She should have known a prospect like that
would appeal to him, that she couldn’t shock him in retaliation with something that wasn’t actually here for him to goggle over firsthand. She could have pointed out that those “birds” were like automobiles, but she didn’t bother. Having her revenge backfire on her took the fun out of it.

“Forget I mentioned it, Thorn. They’re ride-able, yes, but not the way you think. Now, where are we, aside from being on a ship, and what’s the date?”

He shrugged. “I know not the date. I merely envisioned the
Mora
as I last saw her with you, when she was ready to sail to England.”

“Okay, since everything here is back to normal up until the day of the big battle, I hope that makes this the twenty-seventh of September when the fleet did sail for England, rather than the twelfth of September, when they only sailed to Saint-Valery for a better position, and ended up getting stuck there due to that north wind.” And then she sighed. “Either way, we’ve got a long wait ahead of us. If your squire is going to find me another outfit or two to wear, he’ll have more luck here than in England. Any idea where he is?”

He frowned thoughtfully. “Nay, I needs find him. But I cannot leave you alone here whilst I do—” He broke off and was suddenly grinning as he noticed something beyond her shoulder, and then he spoke to that something, “Lord William, may I make known to you the Lady Roseleen.”

Roseleen twisted around in Thorn’s arms. Her mouth was still hanging open in surprise, though she didn’t realize it. And she understood now why Thorn had assumed that medieval poster in her classroom was a picture of William the Bastard. The resemblance between that poster hunk and the actual man was uncanny. Someone in her day had come up with a real winner without even knowing it.

And now that she was finally meeting the great man himself, all she could think to do was nod her head and say reverently, “Your Majesty.”

He laughed. “Not yet, my lady—but soon.”

She blushed profusely over her blunder, though it was a natural mistake. He did end up as the King of England, after all, and so all the history books ended their accounts of him by calling him that.

“My lord, wouldst you lend the lady your protection whilst I locate my squire?”

“Certainly, Thorn, and bring the lad here when you find him. I would you sailed with me on the
Mora
, since you tend to disappear when I do not keep you close. Guy of Anjou brought his fears to me, that something dire had happened to you when he could not find you. You will have to tell us what you have been about.”

Thorn merely nodded to William, squeezed Roseleen once before he let her go, and then abruptly walked away, leaving her in the duke’s care. She had no idea what excuse he
would give later for his absence these last weeks. He couldn’t exactly say he’d returned to Valhalla where he resided between summonings, although a tale like that might be treated as if it were a tall tale for the amusement of all. But William was still going to want to hear something more reasonable, or he wouldn’t have mentioned it.

However, Roseleen wasn’t going to worry about that, when she couldn’t believe the opportunity this presented for her. To have William of Normandy’s attention for however long was just what she had hoped for when she had agreed to go time traveling with Thorn. The things that he could tell her about himself that had never been documented before, his hopes, his plans, those realized and those never fulfilled—this was the stuff that was going to make her own book unique. And she had him all to herself because his ever-present retainers and followers were otherwise occupied at the moment.

In terms of historical research, the time Roseleen spent with William was wasted, other than to learn that it was indeed September 27. She asked a few questions, but the minute he gave her a strange look, as if he wondered why she was so curious, she backed off. They’d done too much tampering with history for her to take any more chances, especially with someone who had had such an effect on history himself. All it would take was for something she said to occur to him at some later point, for him to remark on it to someone
else, or whatever, and all kinds of possible changes might take place again.

It wasn’t worth the risk, she decided. Just being here would have to suffice. After all, details were also important, and she would now be able to describe this period and the people in it with vivid detail, having experienced it all firsthand. That she wasn’t going to obtain any otherwise unknown facts was a disappointment she’d just have to live with.

I
t was evening before Thorn returned to the
Mora
, with Guy of Anjou in tow. Roseleen had been glued to the railing, watching for him, since she had begun to worry as it neared the time of sailing. As it was, they arrived only fifteen minutes before the ship cast off, which didn’t put her in a very receptive mood. Had he not returned in time, she would have been forced to leave the ship as well, with no idea of where to start looking for him.

Guy didn’t appear to be a bit happy to see Roseleen again—they hadn’t exactly hit it off on their first meeting—but her sentiments toward him had changed due to an abundance of sympathy, after she’d learned what had likely happened to his sister. If she had died as Thorn assumed, Guy didn’t even know it yet, wouldn’t know it for some time to come, because news traveled so slowly in these times, and whether that could be counted a
blessing was subject to the individual and the circumstance.

So as soon as she had the chance to, she apologized to Guy for her previous behavior, though it didn’t seem to make any difference to the boy. His attitude was still I’m-a-man-therefore-more-important-than-you, which she was
never
going to agree with.

Thorn was amused by the exchange, though she couldn’t tell it by his stoic expression. However, she knew him well enough by now to know he was chuckling on the inside, that slight twinkle in his blue eyes a dead giveaway, and she didn’t appreciate that either.

She supposed her failed interview with Duke William was the major contributor to her now sour mood, though the worry she had undergone in thinking Thorn wasn’t going to get back to the ship in time was the icing on the cake. So she was rather pleased to find that Sir Reinard de Morville would also be sailing on the
Mora
.

Since she had no desire to speak to Thorn anytime soon, or at least not until her annoyance with him lessened somewhat, she was relieved to discover that there was someone else on board with whom she was acquainted, however slightly. She was flattered that he came over to her the very second he noticed her. Sir Reinard was a very handsome man, after all, and it wouldn’t hurt Thorn to see that men other than himself and his
other
self were interested in her.

But it didn’t take long for her to discover
that Sir Reinard was a bit too interested. His opening remarks of “What do you here, demoiselle? Nay, it matters not. I will not let you disappear so easily this time,” should have given her some warning.

But she was still too pleased at that point that the knight was there, and merely replied, “I’m not going anywhere, at least not until we reach England, and even then, I will likely stay very close to the ship, if I’m even allowed off it. And it’s good to see you again, Sir Reinard. Have you rescued any other damsels lately?”

She was merely teasing, but he took her seriously. “Nay, and ’twould not be nearly as satisfying did I do so—unless you need rescuing again?”

His forming his reply as a question made her laugh. “Do I appear to need rescuing?”

She was about to revise that answer when she noticed Thorn glowering at her, but she also missed Reinard’s disappointed look. She heard his sigh, however, as he replied first, “A pity. To have your gratitude again would be worth any hardship.”

It was at that point that she suspected the man wasn’t just being gallant, and that he was somewhat smitten with her. It was the way he was looking at her now, with such soulful yearning in his eyes, all of which was very flattering, but she was in love with—

Oh, God, she’d just admitted it to herself, when she’d been trying so hard to avoid even thinking about it. She was in love with that
Viking. Yet it was hopeless. Yes, he’d said he would stick around, but the fact was, he was from a realm that she couldn’t begin to understand. He might not have aged much because of that realm, but he’d still been born more than a thousand years ago, still had a brother, living or ghostly, that the world knew as a mythical Viking god, and still had some kind of mystical control over the weather that defied reality as much as his very existence did.

And how would Thorn ever fit into her world on a permanent basis? It would take a full lifetime for him to grasp the intricacies of the late twentieth century and update his thinking and attitudes. And the truth was, she didn’t want to change him. She’d fallen in love with who he was now, foolishly, and certainly not by choice.

And his profession and greatest pleasure was fighting. He would grow bored so very quickly without any wars for him to fight in, and any wars that he might find eventually wouldn’t entail his kind of fighting.

It wouldn’t be fair of her to ask him to stay with her permanently when he would do better to return to Valhalla, where at least others of his kind resided and entertained each other by testing their skills in the Viking tradition. He’d be happy there and would forget about her soon enough, she was sure. And she would…

She wasn’t going to think about trying to survive without ever seeing him again. She was already so depressed in admitting her feelings for him that she suddenly felt like
crying. And there he was across the deck, glowering at her because she was merely talking to another man.

“Will you share a trencher with me, demoiselle?” Reinard asked her.

“What?”

Roseleen brought her attention slowly back to her onetime rescuer and tried to offer him a smile, though it came out pretty weak.

“A trencher?” he repeated hopefully.

It took her a moment to concentrate and recall what a trencher was. Ah yes, what passed for the medieval dinner plate—a large scooped-out loaf of day-old bread. And men and women did frequently share them, the more gallant knights even feeding the ladies the choicest portions of whatever fare was served.

In her distraction, she hadn’t even noticed that the evening meal was being served, but it certainly was, and in typical medieval fashion, in abundance. But then it was a well-known fact that Duke William had presided over a feast this night. Also well-known was what happened while the feast was in progress—at least, well-known to anyone who had studied this time period.

Roseleen couldn’t mention to anyone that she knew the
Mora
had probably by now wandered off course to become completely separated from the rest of the fleet. Had the previous English king Edward the Confessor not dispensed with England’s permanent fleet that patrolled the Channel because it became too costly, or had Harold Godwineson left
some of his fleet behind when he’d disbanded his host on the eighth of September, instead of taking half of it back to London with him, and the rest dispersing on the way, then she would have had more to worry about. But she already knew that the
Mora
had encountered no difficulties while she sailed alone and unaided across the Channel, and that she rejoined the fleet before morning.

She could not discern in any way whether William was aware of the predicament of his ship. As all accounts of this incident stated, he kept his nerve and made merry at the lavish feast that was prepared. And it was a merry crowd, eager to get at the English now that they were finally en route, after months of waiting.

Roseleen would have preferred to leave that high-spirited group just then, when her own spirits were so low. But she had no place to go on a ship; she would be sleeping on the deck if she managed any sleep at all tonight, there being so few cabins to go around, and Sir Reinard was still standing there awaiting her answer.

So she tried to smile again, this time more successfully, and told him, “I would be pleased to share—”

That was as far as she got before Thorn’s voice interrupted her to give his opinion on the subject. “It wouldst be healthier, de Morville, did you eat alone. The lady is in my care, and I am not mindful to share her company—or aught else she has to offer.”