A Knight in Central Park (16 page)

Joe sighed as he watched the sunset. The medieval women he’d studied over the years had been fictional beings. A great gulf had separated him from the medieval world and its occupants. Nothing would ever be the same again.

No matter how many years separated his and Alexandra’s births, the two of them now shared something he and his colleagues never would...a miraculous connection, binding them like no other two people on this earth.

A tug on his stick prompted him to gaze into the crystal clear water. He shuddered when he found himself staring into the hideously ugly eyes of his dinner. Yanking his makeshift fishing pole upward, he jumped to his feet and watched the snake-like creature wriggle helplessly from the end of his branch.

“You did it!” Alexandra said. “You caught an eel.”

The eel’s slick, scaly skin and thin body with flattened tail made him question her excitement. No way in hell was he going to eat the thing for dinner.

Alexandra flayed the eels, three altogether, and put them over the spit to cook. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Sir Joe leaning against the trunk of an oak tree, watching her. She wiped her hands on a cloth tucked in her waistband, then pulled the matches from her satchel. One swipe of the match across the box and she had fire. An ingenious invention, she thought, as she lit the straw beneath a pile of sticks.

“Makes life a little easier, doesn’t it?” he asked.

“Aye, although methinks life in your world is a little too easy. From what I witnessed, it makes people soft.”

“Yeah,” he said as he knelt by the fire and added more kindling. “I guess it does. A person would have to be as hard as steel to live in times like these, wouldn’t they Alexandra?”

The way he said her name made her shiver. She noticed the flexing of muscle as he stirred the fire. During their ride today, she had been startled by Sir Joe’s inquiries when he asked about her life. No man had ever asked her to speak of such things. The men in her village rarely took an interest in what she was saying, let alone thinking. But Sir Joe was from another time. Mayhap he asked only out of politeness. It mattered not. She enjoyed their conversations. Sir Joe was not fond of violence, but he appeared to be anything but soft. His hands looked sturdy and strong as he stirred more than just the fire beneath the spit.

He turned about and caught her staring.

“Hungry?” she asked.

He held her gaze. “I don’t remember ever being so hungry in my life.”

She smiled as she turned back to the eel. She could feel the heat of his body as he came to his feet. She tucked a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear within her hood.

“Maybe the way to a man’s heart really is through his stomach,” Joe said, “because if that eel tastes half as good as it smells, then you—” He stopped short.

Her eyes were still locked on his. “Then what?”

“Then you will make your future husband a very happy man,” he finished half-heartedly.

“As I told you before I-I have no interest in marrying.” ’Twas the truth, she told herself. At least it used to be.

“And why is that?” he asked. “Don’t get me wrong, I understand why you wouldn’t want to marry me...you made that point very clear, but what about one of those two or three dozen other guys knocking at your door?”

She looked at him to see if he was teasing, but there was no mockery there. “Wh-what was the question?”

He leaned closer. “I asked you why you weren’t interested in marriage to one of the other dozens of men following at your heels?”

“D-did I say there were that many?”

He nodded.

He stood so close she could hardly think. “I guess I have seen too many women spend their entire days hoping to please their men. Cleaning after them, worrying about each meal: Can I get you this? Can I get you that?” She waved her cooking stick through the air. “’Tis exhausting to watch.”

“You might have noticed that that’s all changed in the twenty-first century. Everyone looks out for themselves, men and women both. It has become a Me-Me world.”

“How about your mother?” she asked as she set the stick on the ground and turned to open a tin box, pinching its contents, then sprinkling herbs over the eel. “I bet she used to cook for you and run amok trying to please her son.”

“She passed away when I was thirteen.”

Alexandra wiped her hands, then put the tin away. “I am sorry.” She was not oblivious to the strain in his voice. “What was she like?”

“It’s been a long time,” he said. He glanced at the moon, his face seemingly haunted by some inner demon she had not noticed before. “I guess the thing I remember most about her is the sound of her voice.”

Clearly he was uncomfortable with the subject matter. He kept his gaze on the stars above. “After school,” he said, “when all of my chores were done, a dozen or so neighborhood kids would gather outside to play. Sometimes we ended up five blocks down the street. But it didn’t matter how far we went because we would always hear my mother call before dark. The kids would give me pitiful looks, thankful their mothers didn’t have the lungs of an elephant. But not me,” he said, a smile playing at the curves of his mouth. “I always liked knowing she could find me no matter how far away I was.”

As he took a seat on a fallen log nearby, he appeared to shake the memories off. Hard on the outside, soft on the inside, she thought.

“What about your mother,” he asked. “What was she like?”

“Oh,” Alexandra offered happily, “my mother was wonderful, the most beautiful woman on this side of England. She could sing like a nightingale and charm a cup of cream from a hungry cat. People always wanted to be near her.” Alexandra bent over, retrieving two tin plates from her saddlebag. “Have you ever met a person like that? Someone whose warmth and kindness made you yearn to get closer?”

The night air had gone from cold to brisk, but verily she felt nothing but heat coming from Sir Joe’s warm knowing smile; a smile that told her it was good for her to miss her mother so.

Alexandra’s hood fell back and a breeze tossed strands of hair about her face. She tried to find a place for the plates so she could adjust the hood.

“Here, let me help.” Sir Joe stood tall, removed her hood and tucked it in his waistband so he could use both hands to gather her unruly hair. He stood close behind her. Her breath hitched as his warm knuckles brushed against her skin. She closed her eyes, inhaled the fresh smell of trees, earth, and the man standing near. She pushed away the urge to lean back into his arms and let the exhaustion of the last few days take over.

She did not need to fight the urge for long for he was an efficient man and much too quickly he had her hair neatly bound within the hood again. Straightening, she thanked him without turning his way, afraid he’d see the wave of longing and intense desire that warmed her insides.

She pulled the eel from the fire, and after he was seated again, she handed him a plate of cooked eel and hard bread. She watched him take a bite and then another, his appetite ravenous. He nodded his appreciation as he chewed, his eyes gleaming with gratification.

Her faint smile turned to a frown when she realized she was waiting for his approval like some sort of love-sick maiden who had been locked in the dungeon for too many years. Here she was hoping the eel pleased Sir Joe. And for what purpose? Sir Joe was already in love, madly so, with his work. According to Shelly, he wanted nothing more in life than to gain his father’s respect. Sadly, his father might never fully appreciate the man his son had become.

“You outdid yourself,” he said after he swallowed. “Anyone who can make eel taste like a meal fit for a king, has a gift. I never thought I’d enjoy camping out,” he added, inhaling the night air, “but I must admit, a guy could get used to this.”

Alexandra took a seat on the log next to him and for a while they both ate and drank wine from the skin. His dark eyes settled on her after he finished, appreciative and unblinking. Shivers coursed over her. Could he possibly be feeling the same desire that swirled within and made her heart beat faster? Nay. She recognized that spark in his eyes. ’Twas the same interest he had shown while studying his artifacts back home. “What is it?” she asked after she took another bite of eel.

“I was thinking how incredible this is. Had someone told me I could visit the fifteenth century and spend an evening with a woman from that time, I never would have imagined someone like you.”

She lifted her chin. “And what sort of woman might you have imagined?”

“A hardened woman. A woman beat down by the demands of everyday life without modern contraptions to make her days easier.” He took a swig from the wine skin and then handed it to her. “Despite the hardships you’ve been dealt, you never gave up on life, did you Alexandra?”

She took the skin, enjoying the warmth that spread through her every time he said her name. “Nay, of course not,” she answered. “Life is a gift: the scent of a flower, the brightness of the moon.” She gestured toward her plate. “And let us not forget the gift of freshly cooked eel.” She took a swig of wine, then set the wine skin on the ground. “How could anyone give up on something as magical as life?”

“Beats me,” he said.

No longer hungry, she set her plate atop his. Then she straightened and found herself staring at the curve of his lips and the fine angles of his jaw. He looked back at her with the same intensity. “Are you going to kiss me?” she asked.

His lips curved. “I was considering it.”

“What is there to consider?”

“Whether or not it’s a good idea.”

“I find it to be a lovely idea.”

“You would.”

“And so might you if you just—”

He leaned toward her, brushed his mouth against hers, stopping her from saying another word.

She pressed closer, wanting much more of him, probably more than he could give her. She heard a small moan, surprised to realize the sound was her own. Her lips smiled over his mouth.

He opened one eye, their lips still brushing against one another in a whisper. “What is it now? Recalling another sad flaw of mine?”

“Nay,” she said softly, the tip of her nose touching his. “I have never been kissed so fully. You surprised me...I surprised myself. I didn’t know a simple kiss could be so nice.”

His other eye came open, their lips still hovering. “I thought you’d been kissed hundreds of times before.”

“Aye, thousands,” she fibbed, “but never before did a mere kiss make me feel dizzy and alive.”

“Dizzy, huh?”

She nodded, brought her lips fully against his once more, putting an end to their conversation. His enthusiasm matched her own as they continued where they had left off. He tasted of red wine and wild herbs, heavenly, tempting. The chill of the night, the wind, the stars, nothing else existed or mattered. Her pulse raced as she slid her tongue over the curve of his mouth.

His hands curved around her waist, slowly sliding higher to the swell of her breasts. Feeling reckless, she brought her hands to the V of his tunic, loosening the ties in order to gain access to his bare chest. Soft curly hairs swept through her fingers as she felt the hardness of his warm skin beneath her palm. An undeniable moistness along with a fierce ache started between her legs. Her body responded to him, instinctively and with abandon.

His lips broke from hers. “Alexandra,” he said in a raspy whisper, his warm breath on her cheek, “we should stop.”

“Why?” Her eyes were half closed as she breathed in the earthy, masculine scent of him.

His actions belied his words when he picked her up by the waist and brought her to his lap. “Because we might do something we regret.”

“’Tis not possible,” she said, adjusting her skirts, and moving her legs around his waist until she was straddled across his lap. She felt his hardness against her. She leaned closer and put her mouth to his ear so she could nibble on it while her fingers sifted through his hair, something she’d been longing to do for what felt like an eternity.

Alexandra had discussed the act of lovemaking with her friends before, but verily she did not know what she was doing, not exactly. Sir Joe seemed not to mind her inexperience, and so she let her body lead her, instinctively following her senses. She recalled watching two people make love on Sir Joe’s people box, remembered every word they said to one another.

“I want you,” she said softly into his ear, her hand between their bodies, fingers splayed against his hardness. “And you want me.”

He groaned, his breath more than a sigh upon her cheek as she brushed feathery kisses across his jaw.

His jaw tensed beneath her lips. “I can’t stay,” he said. He kissed her neck, his actions again betraying his words as he said huskily, “This isn’t fair to you...or to me.”

She wanted to tell him the truth-that there were no other men, never had been. Not one suitor had ever come to her door. She wanted to tell him she had spoken the truth all along, and that she truly never wished to marry until he came into her life. Never dreamed of giving her heart and everything else so freely, or so fast.

Despite his heated kisses, she felt his passion waning. This time it was she who pulled back so as to look into his eyes. “If you care for me at all you will take what I am offering. Hold me, make love to me, help me to remember our time together when you are no longer here.”

“Our being together will only complicate matters.”

“If I am willing to take such a risk, then why not you?” Her body was afire as she waited for him to respond, afraid he would move her aside and walk away, leave her empty and wanting.

“When all is said and done,” he said, his eyes filled with lust, “regardless of anything that may or may not happen tonight, I have to leave at the next full moon.”

“And I will not stop you.” She took his hand and brought it to her cheek, keeping her hand clasped over his. “But until that time, we have now and I am cold.” She wrapped her arms about his waist. “And you are warm.”

“I can’t fall in love with you, Alexandra.”

“I do not ask that of you,” she said as she covered his jaw with more kisses.

His fingers tightened about her waist, and he swore under his breath, then kissed her hard and firm, without haste, matching the passion she felt within. Heavy breathing mingled with the sounds of the night as she reached down to unhook his breeches, eager to unlock the treasure she’d been seeking. They both stood now, tugging at each other’s clothing until there was nothing left to remove. He picked her up as if she weighed no more than a feather, carrying her to their bed of sheepskins and woolen blankets.