Heroes Live Forever (Knights in Time) (10 page)

Inside, record album covers were strewn over the drawing room floor. Guy, in the center of the mess, stood putting on a one man show.

"I see you like rock and roll," she said and closed the door.

He stopped singing and turned the volume down to a civilized level. He gave her a quizzical look. "Rock and Roll? If you mean the music with the loud drums and people screaming, then the answer is yes, it's brilliant!"

"Brilliant? I've never heard you use the term before."

"Heard it on the BBC, David Frost called
Star Wars
brilliant."

Elinor cringed. “Admitting to me, a teacher, you’re updating your vocabulary from the telly is like a knife in my heart.” She laid her hand over her chest and feigned a wound. Guy grinned and pulled a couple more albums out.

She carefully stepped around the records on the floor to put her purse and keys down. A quick scan of the titles showed a remarkably eclectic side to Guy. Elinor put several back into their jackets and tried to establish some order to the chaotic mess as Guy came over. He beamed in an odd self-satisfied way.

"Have you been up to something?" She quickly scanned the room.

"No, why do you ask?"

"You have a mischievous air about you."

Guy picked up an album by the Moody Blues. "I have discovered they wrote a song about us." He inclined his head toward the chair where Basil sat, legs draped over the arm, reading Horse and Hound magazine.

"The Moody Blues wrote a song about you and Basil," Elinor repeated. "You...and Basil?"

“Not us exactly but about medieval warriors.” Then, with all the aplomb of the chivalrous knight he once was, Guy announced,
“Knights in White Satin.”

She started to tell him it was
Nights in White Satin
, but stopped. He was so thrilled she couldn't bring herself to tell him he misunderstood. "Of course, it's a pretty song isn't it?"

"Yes, it's quite nice indeed." Guy put a record on the turntable and moved the arm over to a specific song. He bowed slightly from the waist and held his hand out to her. "Lady Elinor, would you do me the honor of dancing with me?"

"I'd love to."

He held himself farther away than most dance partners and kept looking down, watching her feet. The steps were new to him, so Elinor found a way to gently suggest a lesson.

"We're usually closer together when we dance to a slow song. It's considered very romantic. I can show you if you like. Why don't you play another slow song?"

Guy agreed and rapidly went through the stack of records. The beginnings of
Unchained Melody
by the Righteous Brothers started. She showed him where to put his hands along with a basic box step. A natural, he caught on fast and played the song again, softly singing along.

"You know, nowadays, if you danced with a woman and sang to her, she'd melt like butter," Elinor teased, batting her lashes at him. "You'd absolutely be invited into her bed."

"They melted in my time too. Some things have not changed." He raised his chin in self-mocking haughtiness. "My charm transcends the ages."

Elinor rolled her eyes, "You are a conceited devil and the most incorrigible man I've ever met."

"Tis true. Those are but a few of the qualities I wear well, milady." A light tingle teased the small of her back through her clothes where his hand hovered. "I think you find me charming."

"No, I don't." Elinor refused to look at him, certain the lie would send her into a fit of giggles.

"Yes, you do. You are a woman. This charm is a boon and a curse."

"Oh do hush up and dance."

Guy’s image faded slightly as he employed the same energy force he had when she hung the pictures. Although she couldn't actually lean on him, he lessened the weight on her arms. They continued dancing as the next song played. The Lou Rawls’s hit from a few years earlier,
You’ll Never Find Another Love Like Mine
began as Guy moved closer. Her one hand covered by his, the other at the back of his neck. The intimacy of the dance brought a beguiling smile from Guy, who was obviously in his element.

Her gaze locked onto Basil's, watching them with fierce intensity. Elinor smiled and waved her fingers, but he just sat fixed, staring. When Guy spun her a second time, Basil stood and headed for the back door.

At the end of the song she offered to teach Guy
The Hustle
. They were rooting through the stack of albums when a fearsome cry sounded from off in the distance.

"What was that?"

Elinor rushed for the kitchen door, but Guy intercepted her. He held his arm out, as though to bar her path.

"What are you doing? Someone might need help."

"It’s Basil's war cry," Guy said in a somber voice. “Come, your presence won't help. There is no help for what troubles him."

She hesitated, and then walked back to the stack of albums, Guy beside her.

"You're not going to tell me what's wrong, are you?"

"If he chooses, he will tell you."

The knights left early that morning to go riding. Elinor planned to use the time alone to clean house. She brought her motivational tape downstairs to listen to while she worked when the doorbell rang.

“Yes,” she said, puzzled seeing the van in her driveway when she opened the door. She wasn’t expecting any deliveries.

“Are you Miss Hawthorne?” A teenage boy with grimy blue jeans, a yellowing tee shirt and an equally dirty jacket stood on her step. A flower box from the village florist and clipboard with pen attached were jammed under his arm. The disgusting jacket provided a buffer between the box and his armpit, for which she was grateful.

"Yes, I'm Elinor Hawthorne."

He pushed the clipboard at her. "Sign here."

She'd barely finished when the boy snatched the board and shoved the box in her hands.

"Wait, who are these from?" If he answered she didn't hear him. The lad leaped into a van and pulled away, the wheels throwing stones up in all directions. “Rude Bugger.”

Elinor opened the box in the kitchen. A dozen roses of the softest peach color lay inside with a card, her name printed in the block letters. "The roses made me think of you." She recognized Jeremy's handwriting, the same bold lettering he used when he labeled her meat wrapper.

She removed the flowers one by one, laying them in a quasi arrangement on the kitchen counter.

"What's this thing?" Basil asked, returned from his ride.

"It's a Walkman,” she said and took a vase out of the cupboard and set it on the counter. “You clip it to your waist, put the headset on and it plays a taped recording."

Elinor popped the cassette out for him to see and then put it back. She turned the volume up and held out the earpiece so he could hear.

Learn to Stop Smoking
. Basil scrunched his face up. "What kind of music is that?"

"It isn't music. It's a motivational tape."

"How does this motivate you?" Basil asked, with more than a little skepticism, fingering the Walkman.

"You listen to it while you sleep, at least I do, and the message plants the idea of not smoking into your subconscious."

"Is this the same subconscious you told Guy about in the bookstore, the one that suffers tupping troubles? If so, I don't think I'd care to possess one."

"We all have one that's unique to us as individuals. Even you have a subconscious, although I doubt you've tapped into it very often." Elinor waited for Basil to fire off a snide retort.

He pointedly glanced at the pack of cigarettes on her table and back at the tape. "Tell me again how this works?"

"Okay, I don't listen to it as often as I should," Elinor said with an exasperated sigh. "When we're awake our conscious mind comes up with all sorts of road blocks to hinder us from doing what we'd really like to do. For example, deep down I want to quit smoking. My conscious mind, however, will find a reason to light a cigarette, like ‘you've had a terrible day at work, Elinor. A cigarette will help you to relax.’ So, I light a cigarette. The tape, if-I-played-it-enough, would eventually enable my subconscious to override the interference of my conscious mind."

Basil snorted. "Perhaps you should just stop purchasing cigarettes."

"That's such an irritating and simplistic answer." Annoyed by his straight forward logic, she turned back to the box of roses.

"What are you doing with those?" Basil peered over her shoulder.

She removed the remaining flowers with care, giving each a gentle shake to loosen the stems from the greenery. "They're a gift. Aren't they pretty? Pale pink and peach are my favorite colors for roses."

The open card sat on the counter. Basil picked it up and his curious expression changed into a scowl. "Who's Jeremy?"

"The fellow I have a date with this evening. Why?"

"Who is this man? What do you mean when you say you have a date with him?" He tossed the card down and leaned against the counter, his arms folded across his chest.

She was well acquainted with Basil's moods. The angrier he got, the smoother his facial features became, except for his mouth. Right now, his lips had tightened into two slashes. On occasion, when he was being especially belligerent, he'd stand, feet braced wide apart, like an executioner on the scaffold.

Elinor tried to figure the best way to explain what a date entailed. "A date is kind of the prelude to a courtship. People go out together to see how well they get along. Usually, they go to a restaurant, get to know one another. Sometimes they go to a movie or dancing," she said and returned to her flowers.

"I've never heard you mention this Jeremy. Have you known him long?"

"I met him the day we went into the village. He's the butcher."

"What!"

Startled, she jumped and stared at him.

"He's a...a tradesman. A tradesman you don't know well. For all you know he could be the worst sort of blackguard."

"How dare you look down your nose at his profession?” she asked, shocked by his class-conscious attitude. “There's nothing wrong with being a butcher. Nor, do I care for your tone. Pray tell, were you never attracted to the daughter of a tradesman?" she challenged.

Basil glared down at her, his expression rigid with suppressed fury. He was a hair’s breath away from assuming his executioner’s pose.

"Do not try and muddy the waters, Elinor. We are not talking about me. We're talking about you. But, since you seem keen to pursue my past, I'll tell you. If I'd been attracted to a tradesman's daughter, and if I'd pursued that attraction, it would only have been a minor dalliance. Under no, and I repeat no, circumstances would I have considered it a 'prelude' to courtship. It wouldn't, and couldn't, be more than a dalliance. As Earl of Ashenwyck, my future was preordained. That future did not include courting milk maids or blacksmith's daughters." He stepped closer, trying to intimidate her.

Elinor had no intention of budging.

Basil took a small step back, "Let me ask you a question." An odd calmness laced his voice.

Apprehensive, she agreed. "Okay."

"You're a well educated woman, as are your parents, I assume.” She nodded and he continued. “As such, I imagine they have certain expectations for you, comparable to the standard you’ve set for yourself. Is that not so?"