Heroes Live Forever (Knights in Time) (6 page)

Basil made a rude retort and the witty insults and jibes continued until Elinor finally raised a hand. "Stop. Big, brave knights and you two carry on like a couple of my school girls."

"What have school girls to do with you?" Guy asked.

"I'm a history teacher at Stoneleigh, a private academy for girls in Ely." With immense pride Elinor mentioned the school by name whenever possible. Often referred to as Eton for girls, it was well known throughout England. The median age of a staff member was forty-five and only candidates with impeccable backgrounds were chosen. Elinor had been accepted upon her graduation from Cambridge, a major accomplishment for such a young woman. Her parents were thrilled.

With co-workers, Elinor exercised absolute discretion. Never were her personal beliefs regarding the paranormal discussed. It would be tantamount to career suicide. The administration would take a dim view of any instructor who admitted to the possible existence of ghosts. They'd be labeled "unsound" or worse, for such whimsy.

"Define girl, what age are these girls?" Guy's eyes sparkled with a depraved twinkle.

"They're seventeen and eighteen. Why?"

"Seventeen," he scoffed. "In my time, many young ladies that age were already married with a babe. I should like to see your girls one day. I imagine they’re quite lovely.”

“Leave my students alone, understand?" Elinor warned in a firm voice. "You're what, six hundred plus years old, way beyond the May-December parameters."

"Aye, but I'm young in spirit," Guy countered with a wink and leaned back on an elbow.

"You're a womanizing rascal."

He lay down, arms behind his head. "Yes, but a handsome one. Do you not think so?"

While she and Guy discussed his lascivious nature, Basil edged closer. They nearly bumped noses when Elinor turned his way. At this proximity Basil's eyes weren't so black but flecked with deep brown. His lashes were short but thick and added a scholarly element to his damaged nose.

Awareness of him as a man flared. "Ummm..." Elinor giggled when she looked Basil in the eye. She twisted away, took a deep breath, composed herself and faced him. "You refer to me as milady. Am I supposed to say my liege since I'm on your land?"

"You may call me Basil. And one day, I will tell you how I'd like you to whisper it," he traced her lips stopping at the vee, his finger suspended in place.

Elinor didn't know how to take his provocative suggestion. He said it with such ease she wasn't sure if he was seriously flirting with her. Everywhere his finger touched, an erotic tingle formed. It muddled her thoughts and made coherent speech difficult. "Yes, one day you should," came out.
Good God! I'm going mad. He’s a ghost.

A bolder woman would be intrigued by the idea. A worldlier woman would dazzle him with a glib retort. Coward that she was, she gathered her things and started to leave, mumbling about more boxes to unpack. She didn’t get far. A pair of warhorses stood in her path. "You have horses with you?"

Guy approached one of the immense stallions. "Yes, our favorite mounts." He swung into the saddle of a majestic Percheron, with a steel grey coat and pure white mane and tail. The destrier's coat glistened as though brushed that morning.

"What's his name?" Elinor asked.

"Thor." Guy stroked the animal’s neck affectionately.

"The name suits him, and he matches the grey in your banner."

"You're one of the few people who've noticed."

Basil mounted his horse as big as Thor. Completely black, the absence of any light markings gave the stallion a fierce appearance. He might’ve leapt from the pages of a mythology book. He only needed to sprout wings to complete the picture. Man and horse made an impressive combination.

"What's his name?" Elinor asked.

Basil adjusted himself in the saddle. Sitting arrow straight, he looked every bit the warlord. "Saladin."

"You named him after the Infidel?" She asked with skepticism. "Didn't your ancestors fight in the Crusades?"

Pride tinged his voice. "The Sultan Saladin was a brave and fearsome warrior. This Saladin was also. He served me well, even unto his death."

"Well said. He's magnificent."

"Thank you."

Elinor left for the house. In the kitchen, she poured another cup of coffee and went into the drawing room. She was going through her record albums when Guy came up behind her.

"Elinor."

Her hand flew up to her chest, again. "You have to stop doing that!"

"What?"

"Sneaking up on me," she snapped in a raised voice, more in frustration than irritation.

"I was not sneaking, Lady Elinor," he said, sounding insulted. "I called out as you wished. What would you have me do? Do you desire me to rattle chains?"

"No, please forget the comment. I'm sorry I brought it up yesterday. I need some time to get used to all of this."

Guy smiled. At ease again, he hovered next to her. He pressed closer as she returned to the albums. "Would you show me how this machine works?"

"I'd be delighted."

Once he’d memorized all the parts, Guy crowded Elinor aside as he experimented with all the knobs.

"Since you appear to have a handle on how the stereo works, I'll leave you to it,” she said. “I need to tend to some book boxes in the library."

He gave her a low grunt in response.

Basil joined her, and they reminisced about her grandmother as she unpacked.

“Did you know she loved sardine sandwiches and ate the kind with their little heads attached?” Elinor asked, grimacing.

Basil nodded and told her Theresa talked to her plants on a regular basis and cheated at cards.

He went on to discuss the manor and the castle. Not surprisingly, he was a fountain of information about the history of both. “I hesitate to tell you this, but there was once a fine library at Ashenwyck. My family possessed several manuscripts of Welsh Bardic Poetry from the seventh century along with some illuminated bibles.”

“Really?” The teacher in Elinor salivated at the revelation. “Where are the books now?”

“Gone. Cromwell and his men burned them.”

“Bastards!” Elinor wanted to wail at the loss.

Basil looked a little sheepish. “I can’t cast too many stones. I burned a library or two in France trying to keep warm.” He went on; his accounts were filled with humorous anecdotes, along with tragic events. The fascinating details wove a tapestry of violence and grandeur, nobility and ignominy. A master storyteller, she was captivated.

When she finished unpacking, Elinor inspected the room with a critical feminine eye. "Plants. The room needs plants to add color. What do you think?"

His brows came together, relaxed, and then knit together again. "What kind of plants?"

"My first choice is a Dwarf Areca Palm. They can be used in decorative ceramic pots." His expression turned blank and he didn't speak for several long seconds. If he'd been a robot she'd assume his battery went dead.

"In the past, I heard talk of a strange plant called a palm that grows on some islands in the Hebrides. I never put much stock in the stories. Palm trees, selkies, faeries, I believe it to be a lot of Scottish balderdash and superstition."

"I see." Elinor wasn’t fooled by the diversion of the Scottish slur. "You don't know what a palm is, do you?" she asked, cocking a brow.

"I said I didn't put much stock in their existence. Shall we move on, what's your second choice?"

It was a temptation to ask him to describe a palm and she almost did. From the look on his face he anticipated she would. He watched her like a patient cat watches a noisy bird. Elinor decided not to pursue the palm question. "A lush fern, in a beautiful oriental jardinière."

"Go with the ferns."

"Ferns it is. Well, I'm off." Elinor breezed passed him.

"Where are you dashing off to?"

"To the village to buy some plants. Why?"

"I'd like to accompany you."

Elinor froze. As much as she'd like for him to come along, if he stayed materialized it could prove disastrous. How would she explain the presence of a medieval knight walking next to her? "People will see you." If there was a note of panic in her voice she didn't care.

"Can you only bear my presence within these walls? If so, I prefer your honesty.” Basil straightened and folded his arms.

Dismayed he'd misinterpreted her reasons, Elinor reached out to touch him. When her fingers began to tingle, she lowered her hand.

"Basil, I'd be proud to be seen anywhere with you. My concern has nothing to do with being in your company. The way you’re dressed, I'm afraid people will think you're an actor. It'd be worse if you wore a sword or surcoat. If they tried to touch your clothes or your body, I might not be able to stop them."

"I'll change into more appropriate attire. You needn't fear. I have experience with mortals and know how to avoid their curious fingers."

"Okay. If you're sure it won't be a problem, let's go." Elinor started towards the door, stopped and turned around. Better to check what he deemed more appropriate attire.

He stood within arm’s reach. His hair no longer hung loose, but was drawn back into a ponytail. The tunic was gone. In its place he wore black thigh-hugging breeches tucked into tall riding boots and a silky white shirt with the collar open just enough to show a tuft of dark hair.

Now, he looked like Mr. Darcy after a booster shot of testosterone. She sighed. “No, no way you’re walking around like a Jane Austen character either. Jeans and a casual shirt are a good choice. And no boots...especially those Lord of the Manor kind.”

She should’ve specified, “Loose, relax fit jeans,” not
best
tight butt fitting jeans on the planet
. He changed the shirt from silky white to a classic, white cotton dress shirt. He kept the collar unbuttoned exposing the scar at the base of his throat. His lack of self-consciousness didn’t surprise her. She assumed he accepted the wound mark came with the image he manifested. She also knew, no woman in the village would notice the scar considering how fine he looked everywhere else.

Basil tipped his head inquisitively.

"Ahh...sorry, did you say something?" Elinor stammered.

The corners of his mouth twitched, "Do I meet with your approval?"

A hot blush seared its way to her hairline. He’d caught her gaping like a teenager. Nor did he fool her for a minute. The stinker knew exactly how good he looked.

"Oh, yeah, you'll do."

Guy glanced up as they walked through the drawing room. "Where are you going?"

Basil flicked his hand, prompting Elinor forward and out the door. "Do not worry," he said. The little hairs on the back of her neck tickled as he stepped close and urged her on again. "Continue your fiddle with the machine and we'll return soon."

Elinor scowled at him for acting so churlish and refused to budge. "To the village. Do you want to come?"

Behind her Basil groaned with exaggerated impatience.

Guy said he'd love to go, and shut off the stereo. Elinor stayed him as he headed towards the door. "You can't go dressed like that. You'll need to change too.

His appearance altered into an outfit similar to Basil's first one. Guy had chosen buff-colored breeches and a white, loose shirt, also open at the collar. Chocolate brown boots hugged his legs.