Through The Leaded Glass (17 page)

And she smiled.

“
Here.” She placed his hand where
hers had been.

There was a beat.

And another.

Then Rory coughed and the crowd gasped. Alex
did too, sitting back on his legs as the boy coughed again and
river water gushed from his small body.

Kate rolled him to his side, smiling through
her tears. “See, Alex? Sometimes new ideas
are
worth
trying.”

He couldn’t deny that now. “I see. Perhaps you
could—”

“
Witch
.” A murmur,
half-whispered, caused Kate to go still.

Alex put a finger to her lips, and stood. It
wouldn’t take long to fan the flames of distrust. Witch riots could
incite a crowd to a frenzy. With Kate’s life hanging in the
balance, he needed to stop this before it went further.

The crowd averted their gaze when he stood
before them. A few women wrung their hands; others crossed
themselves as they looked between Kate and Rory. Even Jane’s eyes
narrowed.

He didn’t have long.

“
The good sisters of Lady
Katherine’s convent have discovered this extraordinary skill for
saving lives,” he said. “When she told me about it, I’d hoped never
to see its demonstration. But we should all learn it so the river
won’t claim its victims.”

No one moved. And they all stared at
Kate.

Kate sat back, crossing her legs and met the
stares of the townspeople. Great. Just great. They didn’t look
convinced. If anything, they crossed themselves even more. Here,
she went and saved one of their own and they wanted to stone her.
Alex might be their lord, but apparently superstition was
stronger—and she wasn’t about to hang around to give him time to
prove her wrong about that.

She grabbed her skirts, ready to run for it.
No way was she going to die as a witch in the fifteenth century.
Not if she had anything to say about it. She’d rather take her
chances in the river than with a pitchfork-wielding
horde.

“
Lady Katherine is no witch,” Alex
said in all his earl-ish importance. She just hoped it worked.
“Would a witch save the life of a child, or would she take it?
Would she teach her skill so others may use it, or hoard her
knowledge for her own benefit?” Alex helped her stand.

Props to him for coming up with an explanation
so quickly, but the muttering and staring didn’t look
promising.

“
And would I, the earl of Shelton,
marry a witch?”

Kate was one foot from running when Alex’s
steward stepped forward. “My lord, I don’t believe you would choose
a witch. I’d be honored if Lady Katherine would teach me this
skill.”

Give that guy a raise.

Beatrice stepped out from behind someone and
stood beside her brother. Then Joan. Then Mary. One by one, others
came forward and Kate almost wilted with relief as a line formed
behind them.

She took a deep breath, returned her knees to
their non-wobbly position, and gestured for everyone to spread out.
She couldn’t trust her voice at the moment.

Finally, she worked words past her dry throat
and began the CPR lesson. It wasn’t exactly what she’d hoped to
teach Cook, but, as another way to save lives—especially her
own—she’d take it.

***

Damn her
! He shuffled along with the
crowd, pretending he was interested in watching this stupid
demonstration. She ran a hand over her brow, smiling so sweetly at
Alex. God’s blood, it made him ill.

And, curse her, the child would live. He’d
anticipated the horror, reveled in the knowledge of what the death
would do to Alex, a sentimental fool who cared overmuch for
children. A man who had grieved like a silly woman at the loss of
one of his own.

He’d enjoyed it then, as he’d wished to enjoy
it now, but
she’d
ruined it.

They’d called her a witch. Was she? Where did
she get her magic? Would it be enough to save her? To save all of
them?

It’d better not. He’d planned this for too
long.

Chapter Eleven

“
What did Rory say, Alex?” Kate
looked up from preparing the place settings for their evening meal
as Alex entered the great hall.

“
He wouldn’t speak. Not a bloody
word.” He unclipped his cloak and draped it over the back of his
chair then sank onto the cushion, and ran his hand over his
face.

Did the man have
any
idea how sexy a
move that was?

“
I was afraid of that.” She picked
up the last of the linen napkins she’d been folding. She was going
for a flock of swans, but they didn’t look quite right.

“
You knew it would
happen?”

The swan’s neck was all wrong. Too
limp.

No, she wasn’t thinking about the wall
incident… Much. Not that there’d been anything limp
about—

She dropped the napkin and looked at Alex. Big
mistake. He was leaning on his elbows—nice table manners—his blue
tunic falling forward to reveal that temptingly silky mass of chest
hair. She couldn’t suppress the shiver when she remembered what his
skin had felt like, tasted like, his musky scent, the whisper of
that hair against her cheek, the pleasure his fingers had given
her—

“
Sometimes people can’t talk about
what happened after a harrowing event. It’s called post traumatic
stress disorder.”
Her
reaction she put down to adrenaline
rush. That affirmation-of-life thing.

She picked up the pitiful swan and began to
refold it.

“
Is there a cure?”

“
Time. We have to wait for him to
be ready to talk.”

Alex exhaled and sat back. “I don’t like
waiting.”

“
At least he’s alive.”

“
Thanks to you.”

She fanned the swan’s wings. A grateful Alex
was a dangerous Alex and she’d better concentrate on something
else—like this poor, beleaguered napkin—if she wanted to leave this
place with her heart intact.

She scrunched the wings.
Not going down
that road
. “So, um, Alex. The gypsies. Any luck finding
them?”

Another swipe of his hand over his mouth.
“Gregorio will come when he learns I need him. I’ve sent
word.”

“
More waiting.”

“
Yes.”

She worked on the wings again. Poor thing
looked like a kiwi.

“
Kate, what are you
doing?”

“
Mangling a napkin.” She held up
the swan. “I’m trying to impress Cook. She’s still resistant to my
ideas.”

Alex took the bird. “You need to earn her
trust, not create swans no one can eat.”

“
You can tell it’s a
swan?”

“
Of course. What other bird has a
neck that long?”

That was actually the tail, but since he’d
paid enough attention to what she was doing to figure it out, she
wasn’t going to correct him.

She took it from him and fanned what had
originally been the neck. That actually looked better this way. “So
how am I supposed to gain her trust? Saving Rory’s life wasn’t
enough?”

“
You ask my opinion? Surely the
heavens will fall.” His deadpan delivery would’ve worked if not for
a cocky grin.

She smacked him with the napkin. “Not
funny.”

“
You have to go slowly, Kate.
Despite what happened with Rory, it will take time to become
accustomed to you and your ways. Remember your disbelief when you
realized what year it was in my tent?”

That wasn’t all she remembered about his tent.
He’d kissed her, turning her world upside down on two fronts. “Good
point, but time is something I don’t have a lot of.”

He covered her hands with his. “I know, Kate.
My men are working on it. I’ve sent more out to look farther afield
for your window.” His thumbs circled on the sensitive skin by her
thumb. “I’ll take you hunting tomorrow. It will take your mind off
your worries and help you with Cook, too.”

“
Unless it’s for murderous thieves,
Alex, I’m not all that big into killing things.”

“
But ladies in this time are. We’ll
go hawking. Your bird will do the killing, and you’ll have
something to give to Cook. That will ease her suspicions. Change
alarms people, Kate. If we keep with what they know, they’ll come
to accept you. And perhaps your ideas, too.”

He had a point. When in Rome—or England as the
case may be. “Okay, I’m willing to give it a try. It looked pretty
cool yesterday.”

“
Yesterday? No one was hawking
yesterday.”

“
Someone was. In the field across
from my room. He had a red-tailed hawk.”

Alex dropped her hands. “No one hunts on my
land without my permission. Poaching is a serious offense, Kate.
And we don’t have a red-tailed hawk. It was stolen from our mews
months ago.”

“
Then it was him. The thief. He’s
taunting you.”

Alex pounded the table and started pacing.
“What’d he look like? Where was he? Where did he go?”

“
I don’t know. He was too far away.
Dark, baggy clothing. A hat. It could have been anyone.”

“
But it was him. He was here.” He
cursed again. “My men have been out scouring neighboring lands and
the bastard has been here, close by, all along.”

***

Closer than you know, Alex
.

He swallowed his laugh beneath the shadowed
confines of the stairs. This was almost more fun than the final act
he had planned. He’d let Alex suffer a bit longer.

As he had.

Chapter Twelve

The next morning, Kate had a late breakfast in
the hall after her hunting lesson with Alex. Her peregrine, a
beautiful slate-blue bird with a speckled ivory underbelly and eyes
like obsidian, had performed well. Thank God, because she’d almost
dropped the thing when it’d flown at her carrying a mourning dove
with its neck at a ninety-degree angle. She shuddered. No thank
you. She preferred her meat from the local grocery
store.

One of the dogs by the fire scratched his ear.
Another one soon joined in.

Kate sighed. That was one battle she didn’t
have a prayer of winning. Alex didn’t see anything wrong with
flea-ridden mongrels hanging out where people ate and slept.
“Choose your battles, Kate,” he’d said.

She had a whole slew of battles she wouldn’t
mind fighting. Not the least of which was this attraction she
couldn’t deny.

He’d been too damn perfect during her lesson.
Encouraging, helpful, patient… So different from her ex, and that
was going to make it that much more painful to leave
him.

But, of course, she would. He might be the
perfect man, but he was still a fifteenth century one, and she was
a twenty-first century woman. The two did not and could not go
together.

She just wanted to go home already. Find the
window and make it to her appointment. She hated this waiting.
Hated this feeling of impotence. She had to
do
something.

Another dog joined in with the scratching.
Another one sorted through the rushes on the floor.

Kate kicked the dried reeds. As far as floor
coverings went, she could name a lot more acceptable ones. These
things hadn’t been changed in days and were starting to get
ripe.

Okay, so she’d get to work changing the
rushes. It wasn’t traveling back to her time, or going on a quest
for the window, but at least it was something.

Luckily Beatrice walked into the hall just as
Kate was about to look for her. “My lady—”

“
Beatrice! Just the person I wanted
to see. We need change these rushes.”

“
Certainly, my lady, but they were
changed a few days ago.”

“
And have had men with muddy boots
tramping over them, servants spilling mead in them, not to mention
the dogs.” She glared at the hounds. “Those really need to go. I
love animals, but they’re unsanitary to have around the food, not
to mention fleas.” She scratched her arm. “And the rushes in
William’s room—they’re in really bad shape. My foot sank in up to
my ankle.”

Beatrice smiled. “William likes to pour water
on them and watch it disappear.”

“
All the more reason they should be
changed more often. Moldy rushes are the cause of a whole host of
breathing maladies.”

“
I’ll see to it, my lady, but the
ladies have asked if you would join us with the tapestry this
afternoon.”

A tapestry. As in sewing. Something with a
needle. The last time she’d done that was a macramé class at summer
camp and had ended up in the infirmary with ten bandages. She’d
given up the hope of learning to knit before Emma
arrived.

Emma
. Friday’s deadline loomed over her
like a storm cloud. What if Alex never found her window? What if
she couldn’t go back? What if she was stuck in this god-forsaken
time period with no hope of returning—