A Knight's Vow Part 4

She opened her eyes and stared at him as if he'd just saved her from being tossed into a fiery furnace.

"You will?" she whispered.

His conscience p.r.i.c.ked him fiercely, and it was with a great effort that he ignored it. The woman was daft. Surely that made his vow of no effect.

Didn't it?

He gritted his teeth. "Aye, I will," he said, fully intending never to do the like.

Her look of grat.i.tude was almost his undoing. But he hardened his heart, reminded himself that she was daft and he wasn't really responsible for her; then steeled himself for a look at things that would no doubt provide him with his heart's desire.

Never mind that she was striking. Or that she accorded him trust he surely didn't deserve. She was a madwoman and he wasn't answerable for her fate.

Or so he told himself.

six.

Backwoods? Rural? Julianna was fast coming to the conclusion that there wasn't a rustic word in any of the languages she knew that described the yokel-like condition of the crew she was facing.

Could it have something to do with the current date?

Twelve-ninety-nine. She'd finally resigned herself to the truth of it. How could she deny it, given the circ.u.mstances? Take the reactions, for instance, to her little show-and-tell of the contents of her bag. Spiked heels had left knight, teenager and priest falling back in horror. Day-Timer with pencils had left them gaping in slack-mouthed astonishment. A Mickey Mouse Pez dispenser had left the priest crossing himself, William scratching his head, and Peter holding out his hand for candy.

Teenage boys acted like teenage boys no matter the year, she supposed.

She had turned to literature to see what sort of reaction that would get. She peeked over the top of her book to see three belly-laughing yahoos. No offense to the Screen Actors Guild, but she had her doubts it had many members who could read The Canterbury Tales in the original language, much less guffaw over their contents.

William had definitely loosened up the longer she'd read. He now managed to contain his mirth long enough to sit up, wipe the tears from his eyes and cough a time or two.

"By the saints, Julianna," he said, "you're a fine spinner of tales. Can you do another?"

"I didn't spin them," she said, turning the book so he could see it. "I'm just reading what's written here."

"Bah," he said, waving a hand benevolently. "Women cannot read. But you needn't fear we'll think less of your words just because they come from your head."

"I can too read," she said tartly, "and what I'm reading is what's written on this page. Here. Look for yourself."

She watched his face still at the sight of the book shoved at him, and she knew in an instant that he couldn't decipher what was written there. She brought the book back in her lap without hesitation, though why she wanted to save him embarra.s.sment of admitting his illiteracy she couldn't have said. It wasn't as if he'd done all that much for her.

Besides was.h.i.+ng her hair, that was."Where did you learn to read?" William asked, as if her own possible qualifications were too ridiculous tocontemplate.

"I learned in school. Then at university," she answered. "Cambridge here in England, University of Indiana at home."

"Cambridge," William said, looking at her skeptically. "Do they allow women to study there?"

Julianna wished suddenly she were sitting back on The Bench in Gramercy Park covered with bird p.o.o.p.

She wished she were sitting in a lousy interview trying to justify the fact that she was fluent in Latin, Norman French, and various forms of English instead of listening to a happy combination of all three being spewed at her from three directions in a decrepit church in the middle of the Middle Ages.

She wondered if this sort of situation could be considered a dire, dire emergency. When she felt herbreath begin to quicken and knew that another round of serious hiccups was on the way, she decidedquickly that it could. She reached into her bag, dug around in its depths and pulled out herdon't-drink-until-absolutely-necessary cola. Without a pause, she twisted the top of the plastic bottle,sniffed quickly to appreciate the fine bouquet of escaping gases she didn't want to identify, then pulled thetop completely off, put the bottle mouth to her lips and took an enormous swig of nirvana.

Odd how she'd forgotten that carbonation burned like whiskey.

She coughed, her eyes watered madly, and she soon found herself being slapped on the back by what felt like half a dozen baseball bats.

Her drink was ripped from her clutching hands, and William's face came into view not six inches from

hers.

"What do you?" he bellowed. "Think you to poison yourself truly this time?"

Julianna held up her hand to stop him from trying to beat any more oxygen into her lungs, coughed

another time or two, and gasped out her most pressing need.

"Give it back," she wheezed. "It's my last one."

"And none too soon, I'd say," William said, eyeing the bottle with disfavor. "Where did you come by this

foul drink?"

"I brought it with me."

He resumed his seat, keeping her final vestige of cola-ized civilization firmly clutched in his hand, and

lifted one eyebrow as he looked at her.

"Brought it with you from where?" he asked.

Well, there was no time like the present to explain the future.

"I brought it," she said without hesitating, "from the year 2001."

William blinked at her, Peter's mouth hung open and the priest began to cross himself again.

These were not good signs.

Then all three suddenly relaxed and smiled indulgently as if they'd orchestrated it. They looked at each other.

"Womanly weakness," the priest offered.

"Daft as a duck," Peter said wisely.

"Too much learning," William concluded. "And ill aftereffects of her misfortune at the bailey wall." He turned and looked at her. "Think you the refuse seeped into your head and fouled your thoughts?"

"No, I-"

"A pity we've no surgeon," he said, frowning suddenly. "He could look at your head and see if any holes there are leaking."

"I don't have any leaks in my head!" She held up her Day-Timer. "What about this? What about the shoes? Good grief, what about me? How did I get out here in the middle of nowhere just out of the blue?"

"Aye, how did you?" Peter piped up. He caught William's frown and ducked his head. " 'Tis a fair question, my lord."

"It matters not," the priest said, rubbing his gnarled hands together. "She's a maiden fair in need of a rescue. 'Tis his duty to see to her."

"He has not the time," Peter said, turning a disgruntled look on the priest. "She's befouled his plans. No offense, my lady," he said, throwing her an apologetic look. "But you did. My lord was nigh onto recovering his keep when we found you sitting against the wall, and what was he to do?"

"Couldn't leave her," the priest said, shaking his head. "Against his vow."

Peter snorted. "What has his vow served him, old man?"

"What would you know of it, young pup?" the priest said, smacking his toothless gums together energetically.

"I knows plenty," Peter replied hotly. "More than you, I'd say."

"You know nothing," the priest said.

The argument only escalated from there. Julianna looked at William, curious as to when he intended to stop things only to find him flipping thoughtfully through the pages of her Day-Timer. He fingered the metal rings, idly flicked the plastic placeholder, then gave a closer look to the pouch full of pens and pencils. Then he looked up at her suddenly, and she saw the unmistakable signs of someone coming to a conclusion.

Silently he rose to his feet, hauled her to hers, then scooped up her bag. Without asking her opinion, he kept her hand in his and led her from the chapel. Julianna had to jog to keep up with him as he strode off into the woods. He walked for perhaps a quarter of an hour before he stopped in a little clearing, dropped her hand and turned to face her. But he said nothing.

Julianna started to get uncomfortable. There was still plenty of daylight left in spite of the clouds, and she had no trouble seeing the expressions that pa.s.sed over her rescuer's beautiful face. Curiosity, puzzlement, but mostly skepticism.

"Are you a demon?" he asked suddenly.

She blinked. "Me? Of course not."

"Hmmm," he said thoughtfully. "I suspected that might not be the truth of it. Your visage is too pleasing for that."

"Well," she said, finding herself beginning to blush in the way she generally did when she tripped on the sidewalk in front of construction workers, "thank you."

"An angel then?"

Apparently he wasn't interested in angering over compliments. Julianna smiled weakly. "Do I look like an angel?"

She knew she was fis.h.i.+ng, but she could hardly help herself. But then, as she found herself being pinned in place by those pale gray eyes, she realized she was way out of her league with this guy. She'd only meant to wring another compliment from him. She hadn't meant to have herself raked over by a frank perusal that left her wis.h.i.+ng she had something besides the muddy ground to sit down on. Whatever else she could find to say about the man, she had to admit that he certainly could leave a girl feeling as if she had no secrets with just a look.

"You, lady," he said at length, "look nothing like any angel I've ever seen."

"Have you seen many?" she asked, wondering why her voice had suddenly acquired such a breathy quality. Well, at least she wasn't breaking into a debilitating round of hiccups.

"I've seen my share," he said.

Sure you have, she meant to say, but he had taken a step or two closer to her, lifted the hand that wasn't still clutching her Day-Timer and reached out to touch her hair. If she hadn't wanted to sit down before, she was almost overpowered by the desire now. She just wasn't sure at all that her knees would hold her up much longer.

"Hair in such disobedient disarray?" he mused, tucking a lock of errant hair behind her ear.

Julianna made a mental note to cancel that appointment she had to get her hair straightened. Suddenly, all the frustration of years of fighting with it vanished. h.e.l.l, it was good hair.

"Eyes that fair pierce my soul?" he continued, looking down at her gravely.

Bag the green contact idea, as well. Blue eyes were a very good thing.

"Nay, lady," he said quietly, "you are no angel. What you are, I do not know. But I do know that now I've seen you, I could never forget you."