When Lightning Strikes (7 page)

“Now what?” she said nervously. “I…I mean what shall we do?” she said, hoping she had used proper Medieval grammar.

“I do not know. I am at a loss for what to do. I am sure at least a few of my companions will think I have bedded you and they may hope to do the same. You cannot remember from whence you came or to whom you belong. My troupe will be quite unhappy to hear that I have taken in an outsider, someone highborn, no doubt and further…we cannot be recompensed with gold for your return because you know not to whom you belong!”

Sarah looked afraid for a moment at the thought of this and she wondered how he felt about this situation. Would she lose him as her only ally and protector? Fear shot through her for just a split second but her voice didn't waver.

“And are
you
unhappy about this?” She felt her voice waver ever so slightly, afraid of his answer.

He leaned up, elbow bent, propping his head on one hand and eyed her with a serious look.

“It has been a very long winter for my people this year. We have been able to travel little since my mother died this autumn past, and left the troupe in my care. It has been a struggle for our survival. They revered my mother and were very loyal to her. As her son, they have come to respect all that she instilled in me, but trust is not something that is freely given among these people. It must be earned.”

He paused for a moment, reaching out his hand and ran one long finger down Sarah's cheek. His fingertip found its way into an errant curl hanging close to her face. He wasn't so sure he could keep himself from her, gold or no, and he longed to reach out and trace the curve of her soft bottom lip with the finger that was still wound in that tawny lock of hair.

“As for your question, I have always been a man of good reason. But you, my lady, have caused me to lose my senses. Those in my head anyway as my body betrays me at every turn when I am around you! I find that I am not unhappy that I found you and brought you here. In truth, the more time I spend with you the more the fates tempt me to give into my desire.”

She tried to ignore his last comment as she stretched out next to him, covered up with the blanket and propped herself up on one elbow, taking care not to hurt her still sore side.

“Well, Nico. Should I call you that? Your companions do.” She smiled and sounded more serious, almost business like.

“Yes, of course you may if you wish. But I do like hearing the way you say my given name…not many here call me by it. It seems almost an intimacy between you and
I alone.”

She stared at him for a second before sighing.

“You are always trying to find
some
way for there to be intimacy. You just will not give up, will you?”

He smirked and shrugged, unwilling to deny what she said because it was the truth!

“As I was saying then, since I am unable to tell you of myself, you tell me about you. Tell me about your people, your way of life and your hardships. Anything.”

“You would wish to know?” His brows knit together.

She nodded. “Yes, I would.”

This was most unbelievable to him.
A gadge outsider –
a noblewoman –
lying here next to him wishing to hear the truth of his life and people and their ways? Their hardships? No one had ever given a damn about him except his mother and those close to him in his troupe.

Should he trust her? God knows, those of her kind were untrustworthy enough. But there was something different about this lady, indeed. She did not seem like one of them.

“Very well, then. What exactly would you like to hear?” he asked her, still wary.

“Well, how old are you? Where did you learn to work with knives like you do? How many people are there in your troupe? Who are those women I saw this evening?”

He raised an eyebrow at her numerous questions.
So... she had been up and peering out of the wagon when he left to fetch the stew.
He smiled.

She sat there nervously, realizing that she may have said too much at one time, and in doing so, revealed that she was not nearly as badly hurt as he suspected. She was indeed well enough to be up and spying on him through the parted canvas of the wagon.

“I have seen twenty and eight winters come and go. I learned to juggle from my stepfather; the man who loved my mother until the day a fever took him. There are twenty and one of us, including Esmeralda's babe that was born a sennight past.” Then he paused before adding, “The other women you saw are part of the troupe also. They are the dancers, Fala and her sister Shaia. There are more women as well.”

She was relieved to see the playfulness in his smile as he
spoke. But she had also seen a flicker of pain in his eyes when he spoke of his mother earlier.

“I am sorry about your mother. I am certain it has been very hard on you losing her.”

He stared back as his look became more sorrowful.

“Her name was Mara, and she was the only person in this world who ever truly cared for me.” He paused a moment, toying with a long piece of rye grass that was stuck to the blanket.

“I do not slight her husband, Peer, for he loved me as well as he could, but not as Mara did. She taught me everything she knew about the world, about outsiders, about the harshness of life and how to survive in a world that looks upon us with eyes of hatred. She shared with me her knowledge of herbs and healing. In this, she devoted great time and care, training me since I was barely past being a babe.”

He sighed and threw aside another piece of grass that was stuck to his shirt.

“Peer - the man who took her to wife after I was born out of wedlock - trained me in the art of juggling. He cared not one whit that I was some man’s bastard, and loved us well. I lost them both.”

Sarah could see the pained look in his eyes and could tell he had suffered more than he was letting on, and was carrying an awful lot of weight on his shoulders. How could he not, being the leader of this whole group and having lost his parents recently? She wished she could ease his burden somehow.

“What happened to your real father? I mean…your sire?” she asked, struggling to remember the proper word they used for their fathers in this century.

Dominic ignored her question as he shifted uneasily and cleared his throat. "Can you remember how old
you
are, Sarah?"

‘
Well - obviously he doesn’t want to discuss his father,’
she thought to herself.
She paused for a moment and looked thoughtful, as though she were trying to remember something. Should she reveal her age?
Well...I guess it can't hurt anything to tell him how old I am.

“I am not certain, but I think I have seen twenty and three winters,” she offered cautiously.

His look became murky. If Sarah was twenty and three, then surely she must be someone’s wife. No woman of station went beyond six and ten winters without being dutifully wed in some advantageously arranged union.

Dominic's mood darkened dramatically at the realization that the tempting beauty lying here with him was surely someone else's wife
or at least betrothed, though she wore no ring, lock of hair or other symbol of such a union. Perhaps she had lost it or it had been stolen from her.

This lady indeed seemed gentle and her compassion genuine. And despite the desire coursing through his veins only moments ago and the spark of interest she expressed in his life, he knew he must keep his distance at all cost.

And yet for some foolish reason, the very thought of her lying naked beneath some other man infuriated him!  Even if that man was her
lord and husband.

He slid farther away from her abruptly. He had no right to feel this way. He barely knew her! His rage grew deeper at the knowledge of this weakness. Why and how had this woman made him feel anything at all?

“Dominic. What is the matter? Did I say something to trouble you?” She stared at him with a questioning look. “
Uh, oh. I think I just blew it,
” she thought to herself.

“My lady, if you have seen twenty and three winters, then it is most certain that you have a lord husband waiting for you wherever you came from. He will come looking for you soon, I am quite certain. And unless you are barren, there are probably children…more than one.”

She wanted to scream. She wanted to tell him there was no ‘lord husband’ or children waiting for her at some stupid castle.
Of course, there is your fiance, David. Remember him? The guy you're supposed to be marrying?

Her conscience turned up the volume to full blast in that moment and it was like a splash of icy water hitting her in the face.

She was lying here half naked, next to a beautiful man. No, make that a stunning man. She had been lingering on his every word. Just moments ago, she had been fantasizing about tasting those lips of his and when he had reached out for that stray lock of her hair, she had nearly melted right then and there. Granted she was trapped in some far off century and she was an emotional basket case, but it still wasn't right. She was a woman about to be married…that is if she could just get back to her own time.

She slid farther away from him and with all the strength she could muster she put on her best act as a gently born medieval lady.

“You are very right, sir. You are not a knight, but you are a man of honor, from what I can tell, despite what your hardships force you to do. And I…am a lady. It is not right for you to be so close to me in this manner.”

“No, my lady it is not. You are unable to remember from whence you came, but perchance your memory will return over the passage of time. I will send out a few of our men to the local villages to see if any of the nobles have passed through looking for a lost lady. Believe me, the peasants tongues will wag with the gossip of any lords who have ‘misplaced’ their wives.”

He could have laughed at the sheer idiocy of the statement had his heart not been so heavy in that moment. Instead, he smiled bitterly, and his voice took on a more serious note.

He stood up, stooped over and walked to the far side of the wagon.

“I will sleep over here. I intend to be honorable in ransoming you. I have come to like you in the short time we have spoken Sarah, and I will cause you no shame among your people. I wish, God forgive me that I did not have to ransom you at all. I would return you to your people for no recompense whatsoever, were it left to me. But, my companions will want to get their hands on any coin that they can. As I said earlier, the winter has been long and we have been unable to peddle our wares as much as we have needed.”

He spread another thick blanket out on the floor of the wagon and lay down leaving Sarah alone with her thoughts.

After awhile, his breathing slowed and she could hear it settle into a steady rhythm as sleep over took his weary body. She yawned and turned over on her side, wondering what she was going to do.

The ruse couldn't go on forever. He would send his men out and sooner or later they would discover that none of the local lords were seeking their lost wife. She didn't want to think of the consequences of that. Would they kill her? Would Dominic let them?

She yawned as sleep began to overtake her and she reached under the blanket-roll beneath her head and desperately clutched the gold medallion she had hidden. She hoped that somehow it would hold the answers to getting her safely away from here and back where she belonged before it was too late.

‘Too late to save you from them…or from what you are starting to feel for this man?’
she wondered.

She tried to picture David's face but instead, Dominic was soon there to invade her dreams.

Chapter Seven

Marco sat before a nearby fire stirring the burning embers with a stick as they prepared to break their fast with bread and cheese. Dawn had come too quickly and Dominic had risen and headed to the lake to bathe. The cool water could wash away the previous days grime, but did nothing to ease the fire that was growing within him for the woman. He was still weary from a restless night's sleep and stretched his aching muscles as he sat beside his friend.

Marco smiled a wolfish grin and sat in silence staring at Dominic as he settled himself before the blaze. Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke,

“Well?"

“Well what?” Dominic replied blandly.

Marco's smiled faded somewhat.

“Well, you are supposed to share these 'interesting details' with me and perhaps you would allow me to experience them for myself, no?"

Dominic stabbed his knife into the ground.

“There will be no sharing of anything. I wasn't referring to the physical attributes of her, Marco. She is to be left alone.”

Marco stopped smiling and pulled the knife from the dirt.

“Well, then, Nico, what
is
to be done with her?”

“I do not know,” he answered, quietly.

Marco raised a brow and paused right in the middle of taking a generous bite of hard cheese.

“You do not
know?
Ami, this woman is undoubtedly a noble. We can ransom her for a hefty gold purse. Has your lust driven you mad as she is?”

“She is not mad, I assure you.”

“Has she bewitched you in some way?”

He sucked the crumbs from his fingers and took a large gulp of water from his cup.

“No. Marco, the woman's memory was injured somehow by the strike of lightning. She can recall her name, but she cannot recall from whence she came and to whom she belongs.”

Marco sighed. “I see. Well, this does not bode well. The others must not know of this.”

“I agree. In the meantime, I think we should send word to one or two of the local gossipmongers from the village to find out if any of the local nobles have a runaway wife. We can spare nothing of our own as payment, but perhaps if you get under the alewife's skirts, she would give them a free flagon or two.”

Marco broke into a wide toothy grin as he pictured the buxom alewife, Gilda, with her skirts hiked up around those ample hips of hers and his tongue buried in her dampness as she
sighed her pleasure against his mustachioed lips.

“Yes, I am quite gifted in that area.”

Then his brow furrowed as the tempting picture faded and his train of thought returned to him.

“A lost wife?
So you think the woman is wed?”

“She believes she has passed twenty and three winters. If she is noble there is little chance that she has escaped a dutiful marriage to some wealthy lord. And there would most certainly be children, as I explained to her yestereve. I was hoping to jar her memory.”

“And did you?”

“No, she could remember nothing else. She did not, however, argue with me when I said this, and she did mention something of a fiancé when I first found her" he said stiffly, remembering how she had slid farther away from him in those moments when he had confronted her with the reality of her situation. “However, if she has indeed passed twenty and three winters, she is more likely a wife than someone’s intended. A femme of her beauty would not be a spinster.”

Marco sat in silence for a few moments and then spoke again, very cautiously.

“You know, we could send word to your brother Navarre. Surely he would know of a missing lady among the nobles, especially if she is one of their wives.”

“NO. Do not even speak of such a thing to me.”

He spat the words out bitterly.

Navarre.
Even the name made his flesh crawl. Navarre de Lyonne was his younger half- brother and his father, Thomas de Lyonne’s heir.  He was a tall, golden Adonis raised among the chivalrous and pompous nobility.   He was also a knight with lands and title and most of all, a legitimate
name
.
He represented everything that Dominic was not and could never be even had he wanted to. Navarre had lied, cheated and stolen to gain their father's misguided trust, and Dominic could not forgive him or their sire for that.

Yes, his half-brother was a respected knight and seasoned warrior who had earned his spurs, but chivalrous he was not.  Navarre was as black of heart as he was fair of face and Dominic knew he could not be trusted. And he most certainly could not be trusted around Sarah.

“You will
not
inform Navarre of her presence here, Marco."

His voice brooked no argument in that moment, and Marco knew he tread on dangerous ground with his words.

"Very well, then. I will leave for the village shortly.” He paused for a moment before adding, “You are taken with her, no?"

Dominic sat there in silence.

“I thought so." Marco sighed. “You, my friend, are acting the horse’s ass! You have made many foolish mistakes in your life, as we all have, but this? Why would you waste your time on that which you cannot have? Our life here is not much, but it is a life. This femme was raised amidst all that you despise and even if she
wanted
to stay with you, the laws of the king would not permit such. And she could not survive here amid the hardships we endure. You are better off with Shaia and Fala. And ho, merde! You get
both
of them at the same time. Why would you wish to settle for just one when you may have a ménage a trois? Are you an imbecile?”

He reached forward, grabbed his water skin and poured some more water into his cup, took a large gulp and then wiped the droplets from the ends of his mustache.

“You know little of this woman. Christ’s blood! You have known her for what? One day? ‘Tis a simple case of lust maybe, but love? No. And that is not for us anyway. You sound like a lovesick femme…if you keep acting this way you will soon become one of them!”

He laughed hard. “What you need is to get drunk…and get into a fight with someone bigger than you. If none can be found, though I am not bigger than you, I would be glad to oblige.”

Marco continued goading him. “Loathe as I am to admit it, you are better looking than I, but mayhap, if I
did
knock the shit out of you, you would not be so lucky.” His eyes brimmed with mirth.

“Ferme ta gueule!
Are you finished, then?” Dominic said as he laughed at the truth in his friend’s words and jokingly told him to shut the fuck up. “I suppose I am overdue for a tankard of ale and an adventure with a couple of indecorous tavern wenches.”

Marco nodded. “That is more like it…and oui, the adventures we have had and
will
have with the fairer sex!"

“However,” added Dominic, continuing the banter, “It will take much more than a fight with you to do any damage, since you fight about as
good as one of the women of which you speak.”

Marco raised his cup and chuckled. “Touche. So then, I need to keep you alive so I may prove you wrong, no?”

He took a large gulp of his remaining water, tossed the rest off to the side and then dried out the cup with the edge of his sleeve.

“You must rein control over that randy serpent you carry around in your breeches…at least with this lady, if you wish to keep your head atop your shoulders. That is all there is to it. Yes, she is beautiful, but there are so many more that are just as fair as she and who are not noble or
taken."

Dominic nodded. “You are right.”

He wanted to kick himself in the ass for allowing some woman he barely knew…or
any
woman for that matter, to come between him and his own good judgment.

Marco stood up, and stretched out a kink in his back.

“I will find out what I can in the village,” he said, before walking away.