Lost in Time: His Lady in Green, Chapter Twenty-One

by Barbara Monajem

Back in the corridor with all those doors, Eve slumped against the wall. She tried to remember which of the Daubenays she hadn’t seen for a second time.... Ah. Thomas, the 12^th Earl.  She didn’t even know whether it mattered. Since she’d been unable to take the large emerald from Tristan, how could she recover the entire necklace? The quest seemed doomed.

But she couldn’t give up now. Nor could she risk meeting the wrong Daubenay. If she chose the wrong door, she might have to stay in some other time and place... Which, though tempting, was also quite, quite wrong. Not only because she didn’t belong there or with any of them; she belonged with Sebastian in the twenty-first century. But it wasn’t just that—it was what might happen to him if she didn’t fulfil her quest.

Thomas was her only hope, but how could she tell behind which door she would find him? She dredged up that scene from her confused memories... The violin! She pushed away from the wall and crept down the corridor, putting her ear to each and every door.

At last she heard it, that solitary wail. What if some other Daubenay played the violin? She eased the door open, keeping her feet firmly planted on the passageway floor, ready to slam it shut.

The music ceased abruptly. “Come in, dame en vert,” said the same smooth, mellow voice. “I know why you’re here.”

Heart thudding, she eased her way inside. “You do?”

There he was, as compelling as the first time. He laid the violin and bow on the bed and crossed the room to a dressing table. The room smelled different now... A hint of feminine perfume lingered in the air.

“I hoped to be the one to break the curse,” Thomas said, “but I cannot ask you to return a third time, however beautiful and courageous you may be. I have fallen in love with another woman.”

Eve let out a long breath of relief. “That’s wonderful, my lord. I’m very happy for you.”

His smile was rueful. “I’m happy for me, too, if a little regretful that it couldn’t be you.” He opened a chest on the dressing table and removed two gleaming green stones. “Still, I can play one small part. I believe these are the last of the emeralds you seek.” He pressed the emeralds into her hand.

She gaped down at them. One was the large emerald she had left with Tristan Daubenay. It made no sense, none at all, but time had twisted and warped so much tonight that nothing made sense anymore.

 “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you so much...” She wanted to say more, to congratulate him, to wish him the best, but he was already disappearing. Mists swirled around her...

“Eve!” Sebastian strode toward her, dear and strong. “Darling, I’ve been so worried. You recovered the necklace!”

She followed his gaze...and there it was, whole and perfect upon her chest. She grinned, happiness filling her. “I did! I did it!”

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard. “I love you, Eve. Thank God you’re back, safe and sound.” He pulled away. “You don’t need that dagger anymore, sweetheart. The curse is broken. The danger is over.”

She stared down at her hand. Only a few seconds ago, she hadn’t been holding Richard d’Aubenay’s weapon. Her heart plummeted as its significance dawned on her.

The danger wasn’t over. She had recovered the necklace, and maybe the curse was indeed broken, but her quest wasn’t complete. She had made a promise to the first Daubenay and to the poor fortune-teller. She had to return to the England of William the Conqueror.

She didn’t want to. She wanted to stay here.  

Sebastian went down on one knee. He took her free hand in his. “I’ve been waiting all evening to ask this, and it felt like the longest evening of my life. Will you marry me, Eve?”

The one wish of her heart...but she couldn’t stay with him. Not yet. A whiff of the blood and filth of that long ago time reached her, beckoning horribly. Inescapably.

Tears sprang to her eyes. “Yes,” she said, “oh, yes, but I can’t.” Talk about the ultimate sacrifice. She’d always thought that meant death, but...not in this case, at least. Living was the true sacrifice. Placing honour before love... Perhaps sacrificing love altogether.

Sebastian’s face fell. “Why not? Don’t you love me?”

“Yes, with all my heart, but I made a promise to return once again to Richard d’Aubenay. He was about to kill a fortune teller for predicting two futures, one great, one dreadful. I have to save her life. I may even have to convince him to stay in England, or nothing will be the same.” She shuddered at the memory of the fortune teller’s vision—Sebastian in a crumbling castle, his head in his hands. Across the vastnesses of time, she heard the woman’s pleas and Richard’s harsh voice.

“And you may not be able to return here,” Sebastian said. She could hardly bear to look at his stricken face.

She took a deep breath. “If I’m meant to return, I will.” That long ago time reached for her, tugged her into the mists. She gazed longingly at the man she loved, perhaps for the last time.

His mouth twisted. “That’s how the legend goes. The Lady in Green comes a third time to her true love. Since this nightmare began, you’ve only returned to me twice.” He swallowed. “Very well, my darling.” He squeezed her hand. “Hold on to your love for me, and it will prove true.”

The mists blew in and away, and she stood once more at the top of the staircase, breathing in the odours of a thousand years before. The wooden door stood open, but when she tried to go through, she couldn’t move. Sebastian was still holding her hand! She turned, glimpsing his beloved face in the mists.

His whisper came to her across the reaches of time. “Your true love gets to help you.” Yes, someone had told her that—Dougal MacKinnon, the Scot. Strength poured into her. She gathered her courage.

“My lord Richard!” she cried. “I have fulfilled my quest, and the future is bright once more.” She held out the dagger. “Here is your weapon, with my thanks.”

Richard d’Aubenay strode forward, peering at her. “I can scarcely see you, Lady in Green. Why have you not returned in the delightful flesh?” He accepted the weapon, then frowned, gazing past her shoulder. “Who waits behind you in the darkness?”

 “He is my true love, your descendant of a thousand years hence.”

Richard cocked his head to one side. “A comely enough fellow, but why not remain with me? We need not stay on this godforsaken island. I have lands enough in Normandy.”

Sebastian’s grip seemed to loosen, and panic suffused her. She had to get this right. Stay with me, Sebastian. I need you. “The future shines brighter in England. Here, you will found a noble family that lasts a thousand years and more.”

Richard wrinkled his nose sceptically. How much of the future could she reveal? She had tried to warn the Jacobite-turned-Chevalier...

 “In Normandy and the lands thereabout, the future is dim,” she said. “As the centuries pass, tyranny will replace justice, and in the end the people will rise up and kill even the noblest and best of men.”

Richard whistled. “Then I must stay here, weary though I am of battle. The Saxons hate us, and who can blame them? No one is content to be of the vanquished.” He gestured to the fortune-teller. “Begone, wench!” The ragged woman scuttled past them and vanished.

“Stay with me then in England, oh Lady in Green,” he said. “I lust after both your beauty and wisdom. Forget your lover and come to me.”

No! She clung to Sebastian’s hand. Help me!

From afar came his whisper. “Saxon wife.”

Of course—she had read the accounts of Richard and the local gentlewoman he had married. “I cannot stay, my lord. I belong to a different time,” Eve said. “Seek yourself a Saxon wife, one who understands the ways of the people you have conquered.” The future pulled at her, the warmth of Sebastian’s love stronger with every second. “One with lands to add to yours,” she called across the mists of time. “Woo her with love and kindness, and show justice to the people you rule. In good time, peace will come.”

“He’s gone,” Sebastian said.

She turned. They were in a modern-day corridor with electric lights. The necklace glowed upon her breast.

“And you have returned for the third time.” He grinned down at her. “Which proves that I’m your true love. So I’ll ask again: Will you marry me?”

 “Yes!” Eve flung herself into his arms, and their lips met. For a brief moment, it seemed as if she was in the embrace of each and every one of the Daubenays, and then their presences faded into the dark, unreachable past. She claimed Sebastian with her lips and heart, and he claimed her.

And they lived happily ever after.

 

We hope you enjoyed this round robin story. We had fun writing it and will make it available for download soon. Should we do another of these round robins? What sort of story would you like to read here on our blog?

~~~~~

Barbara Monajem's new novella, The Magic of His Touch, comes out April 1st. It's the first in the May Day Mischief duet.

The Magic of His Touch (May Day Mischief, Book 1)

England, 1804 

Tired of being paraded before every eligible bachelor, Peony Whistleby decides it's time to find her true love—through the ancient custom of rolling naked in the dew on May Day morning. But the magic goes awry when she is caught in the act—and by an entirely unsuitable man. And yet, the way his eyes linger upon her flesh ignites a sensual craving that can only be satisfied by his touch…

Lost in Time: His Lady in Green Chapter 18

by Marguerite Kaye

Eve screamed and the knife clattered to the floor, skidding over the polished wooden boards. Staggering back, she crashed into the door and was trying to fumble for the handle when a large hand clamped around her wrist.

‘How many times do I have to say it!  I must not be disturbed in the night.’ The man cursed heavily and the vice-like hold on her arm was released. A switch clicked, and the room – a bedchamber – was filled with a weak electric light.

‘It’s you!’

A sheen of sweat made his black hair cling to his furrowed brow. There were dark shadows under his blue eyes. Beneath the stubble which roughened his jaw, his skin was ashen. He did not look to be much older than when she had first encountered him in the trench, but there was something haunted in his expression that told of suffering beyond description. Eve reached out to touch the crescent-shaped scar on his cheek. ‘You survived the blast. I was so afraid – but you’re alive.’

‘Alive, though there are times when I feel I am in a living hell.’ Major Tristan Daubenay ran a shaking hand through his hair. ‘Every night since the war ended, it is the same. I close my eyes and they are there, the dead. So many of them, I can’t even remember their names.’ He padded over to the bedside table and slopped water into a glass from the jug there. ‘I dream I am back in the trenches fighting for my life. I almost strangled my mother one night, when she tried to waken me. That’s why I gave orders that no-one was to disturb me, not matter what racket I make. I took you for a German spy just now. You’re lucky I didn’t slit that beautiful throat of yours.’ He slumped down onto the bed. ‘Shell shock, they call it in the men. In we officers, it is deemed a lack of moral fibre. My mother is embarrassed by me.’ The major swore again. ‘I sometimes think it would have been better if I had died.’

Appalled by the naked suffering in his face, Eve sat down beside him, clasping his hand between hers. ‘We call it post-traumatic stress now. It is a recognised illness, nothing to be ashamed of. I cannot imagine the horrors you must have lived through.’

His fingers tightened in hers. ‘Nothing to what I’ve seen others suffer. I’m alive, and relatively unscathed. I should be grateful.’

‘Instead of which you feel guilty,’ Eve said gently.

He looked at her in surprise. ‘How did you know?’

She shook her head. ‘When I last saw you it was the night before the Somme. The odds were stacked against you, you said. And there was that huge blast, I still cannot believe you survived.’

He smiled the crooked smile she remembered, and fumbled with the buttons on his striped pyjama top to reveal a scar shaped like a starburst over his heart. ‘A miracle,’ he said, ‘and it was thanks to you in part.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I told you the angels of the battlefield signified either death or good fortune. You, my angelic lady in green, brought me enormous good fortune. He reached under his pillow. ‘This. I don’t know how it came to be in the pocket of my tunic, but it deflected the shrapnel which should have killed me. I carried it with me over my heart for the rest of the war. It is my lucky charm. In the night, when I feel the terrors starting, if I can just hold it – sometimes it keeps them at bay.’

In his hand, he held the large emerald which had formed the centre-piece of her necklace. Eve’s blood ran cold. ‘Your lucky charm,’ she repeated with a sense of foreboding. ‘But the scar?’ She placed her hand over the strange indentation, feeling his heart beat steadily beneath her palm.

For answer, he placed the emerald on the scar where it sat, looking curiously as if it had grown there. ‘They couldn’t understand it at the field hospital, by rights the stone should have pierced the bone and then my heart. It is absurd I know, but I fear that if ever I were to lose it, I would die. What is it, my angel, why do you look so sad?’

‘It’s nothing.’ She couldn’t ask him to surrender it, she simply could not. She could only hope that in some parallel universe, the emerald would find its way back to Sebastian’s family, but she was not going to be the one to deprive Major Daubenay of the one comfort he had. So many stories intertwined, so many of Sebastian’s ancestors she had encountered during this bewildering night, Eve felt suddenly quite overcome and in dire need of the one pair of arms she knew were the right ones, the only ones, for her.  ‘I must leave now,’ she said, getting wearily to her feet.

‘The last thing I remember before the blast was your lips on mine,’ the major said. ‘The sweetest of kisses, I know it would have been. I doubt I’ll see you again, my angel. Will you grant me that kiss before you leave?’

Hot tears streaked her cheeks as she twined her arms around his neck. With a muffled groan, he enfolded her, pulling her tight against him. ‘My angel.’

It was indeed the sweetest of kisses, tinged with regret, salty with her tears. ‘Darling Tristan, you’ll recover given time. Think of me whenever you hold the emerald,’ she whispered, as the floor began to rock and shift, the weak electric light dimmed, and Eve felt herself falling…

MARGUERITE KAYE

I write hot historical romances from cold and usually rainy Scotland featuring rakes, sheikhs and Highlanders. I also knit and like to drink martinis. I have a time travel short, Lost in Pleasure, out in March, and I'm currently working on a series of three linked short stories set in the First World War, due for release next year. You can find out more about me and my books on my website, www.margueritekaye.com, or join me for a chat on Facebook or Twitter. 

His Lady in Green: Chapter 17

The sparkle intensified as the whispered word faded.  Dizzied, Eve shook her head, trying to clear her vision.  Finally the swirling light steadied, coalescing into candlelight reflected off the jeweled hilt of a dagger—which she held once again in her hand. 

Fingers clenching on the weapon, Eve looked around her.  The large canopied bed and tall wardrobe told her she’d been transported to a bedchamber.  A lady’s bedchamber, for she stood before a dressing table, the tip of her dagger pointing toward a large jewel case.

A shock ran through her.  Might the rest of the Merygham emeralds be hidden within that case?

Eagerly she applied the dagger to the lock, twisting until it yielded.  Ignoring the outrageousness of her actions—after all that had happened this night, what matter a bit of thievery?—she plunged her hands into the case, pushing aside necklaces, ear bobs, brooches winking with diamonds, rubies, sapphires, searching for the green fire of emeralds.

At the very back of the case, her fingers encountered a jumble of unset stones.  She raked them into the light and her heart leapt.  Emeralds!  Emeralds of graduated size that would perfectly complement the brooch and the stones she’d already retrieved.

Hastily she pulled them out and thrust them into the evening bag with the others.  Were these stones enough to complete the necklace?  If so, how and where was she to get them set?

Before she could decide what to do next, the chamber door opened.  Gasping, Eve closed the jewel case and whirled to face the newcomer.

Sebastian! her heart sang.  But even as she poised herself to run into his arms, she realized once again, she’d been fooled by the handsome profile above a black dinner jacket and white tie.  This was not her Sebastian, but the elegant Regency Sebastian she’d met earlier on the stairway.

He’d halted, too, staring at her.  “My Lady in Green!” he exclaimed.  “What are you doing in my mother’s chamber?”

While Eve fumbled for some plausible explanation, he advanced on her.  “”No need for a dagger, my lovely, I mean you no harm, but…”  He broke off, his expression of delighted surprise turning to concern.  “Your gown is torn—and is that blood on your shoulder?  Are you injured?”

“M-mud, not blood,” she stuttered. “I’ve been, ah, traveling.”  As she tucked her evening bag under her arm to rub at the spot, two emeralds spilled out.   

Drat, she must not have fastened the clasp!  Before she could snatch them up, Sebastian swept them off the floor.  He gazed at the gems in his palm, then back at her, his expression turning grimmer.  “The emeralds.  Papa brought them for Mama, but she never fancied them.  Not with the curse.

“Curse?” Eve echoed faintly.

“Returning from London after purchasing the gems, Papa came upon a band of gypsies, who were being driven out by the local residents of the town through which he was riding.  Having pity on them, he offered the leader a stone to buy food and supplies.  We need shelter and a place to stay, not gems, the leader replied—for what jeweler would believe the stone wasn’t stolen?  Knowing his neighbors were unlikely to look favorably on having a gypsy band settle near Meryngham, Papa regretfully refused.  The gypsy leader tossed the emerald back at him, pronouncing a curse on the stones and anyone who wore them.  Unless…”

“Unless...?”

“Unless the gems were given as a token of true love by the heir to his lady.  Sadly, my parents’ marriage was an arranged one.  Mama kept the stones, but as you see, unset.”

The necklace must have been created by some later Daubenay, Eve thought.  And at what point had the fate of the necklace determined the fate of Merygham?

“You could stay…and I could give them to you,” Sebastian said softly, placing the stones back in her palm before reaching to caress the spot where she’d brushed away the mud.  “I hardly dared hope I would see you again—but here you are!  Our love could break the curse.”

His touch was mesmerizing, intoxicating.  She was so tired and confused, and he was so very like her Sebastian.  Was this what she was meant to do?  Stay with this Sebastian, so the necklace might be created?

His lips brushed her bare throat, sending shivers down her spine, calling up a heated response from deep within her.  “I’d make you a choker of green fire,” he whispered.  “Fire to match the blaze you ignite within me as I touch you…kiss you.”

He pulled her unresisting body closer and took her mouth.  He even tasted like her Sebastian, she thought muzzily as his tongue swept hers.  She swayed, and he caught her to him, fitting her against his lean hard strength.

How easy it would be to stay within the shelter of his arms, giving herself into his care.  But some nagging bit of resistance held her back.

He’d said “choker,” not “necklace,” she realized, the importance of that fact finally breaking through her sensual haze.  The heirloom she’d worn earlier this evening had been long, the central brooch nestling  in the hollow between her breasts.

She could not be meant to stay here. 

Still, Eve had to summon every last bit of strength and will to push him away.

“I..I cannot stay,” she said, retreating from him.  “I must take the gems and go.  I can’t explain, but it is imperative for you, for the future of the Daubenays.”

The heated look fading from his eyes, he reached out to capture her shoulders.  “But my lovely lady, how can I protect you from harm if you go?  No, you must stay.”

Did he know about the danger that threatened the wearer of the necklace?  Before she could ask him, he moved toward the door, a hand raised as if to lock it.  “I cannot allow you to make the sacrifice.”

If the necklace were not complete, the Daubenays—and her Sebastian—would suffer.  She could not let this Sebastian trap her here!  Clutching the loose emeralds in her hand, she rushed for the door, struggling as he sought to prevent her from passing.

“If you care for me, let me go!” she cried, breaking free as his fingers slipped on the silk of her gown.

Picking up her skirts, she raced out the door and down the hallway, frantic to escape his following footsteps.  Coming to a cross passage, she turned down the unlit hallway, grabbed the handle of the first door she saw, and rushed in. 

Closing it behind her, Eve leaned against the solid oak panel, gasping.  Not until she straightened did she realize she was not alone—as the cold steel of a blade slid against her throat.

--Julia Justiss

Julia Justiss is happy to announce the first book of her  Ransleigh Rogues series, the story of four cousins, best friends through childhood and university, whose destinies are forever altered by war and the love of one remarkable woman.

March's THE RAKE TO RUIN HER features "Magnificent Max," earl's son and leader of the Rogues, whose dreams of a brilliant government career are ruined by betrayal at the Congress of Vienna.  But heiress Caroline Denby, who wishes to avoid marriage, is delighted to encounter the disgraced Max at a houseparty.  Why not, she proposes, put his bad reputation to good use by ruining hers?

His Lady In Green: Chapter Sixteen

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Eve turned slowly, taking in the room around her.  Lit by candles and a roaring fire, it was small, but the furniture was well made, even sumptuous.  Leather seats and carved wood tables.  She had once more changed locations and, it appeared, finances.  This was a wealthy man’s retreat.

“My lady, I thought to never see you again.”

The voice was strangely familiar, but without the Scottish burr and urgency.  The fleeing Jacobite…

A man’s bowed head and extended hand met her gaze.  His red hair was cropped short, fashionable for her time, but not here.  Now men wore wigs.  His shirt was fine lawn with ruffles down the front.  Instead of feminine, the design was very masculine with the front open to his chest and showing auburn hairs curled enticingly against flat muscles. Would his abs be ripped?  Very likely.  Plain brown pantaloons hugged his lean hips and white stockings showed powerful calves displayed to perfection by his ‘perfect leg’.  A man worth returning to.

She put her hand in his.  “My lord, am I in France?”  His lips brushed her skin, sending tremors up her arm.  Now she understood why the gallant gesture was so popular.  It was touching that created sensation, yet did not flaunt the conventions.

He released her and straightened, standing a good four inches taller, even though she still wore her spiked heels.  “Nay.  You are in a different room, but still in the Meryngham  Castle.  I am a guest, a distant cousin of the current Earl and his soon to deliver wife.”  A smile twisted his fine, full lips.  “With luck, she bears the heir.”

“Your heir,” Eve murmured.

Sadness darkened his eyes, turning them to the grey of a stormy sea.  “’Tis better this way.  My loyalties have always been over the water.”  He shook himself.  “But enough of this.  A birthing is no time for melancholy.  Particularly this one.”

She nodded.  “As you wish.”

“What I wish for, Lady in Green, is another kiss.  I have never forgotten the last, though it be ten years ago.”  His gaze ran over her as he moved in.  “I knew last time you were indecently dressed, but I never imagined this.”  His voice ended on a raspy note as his hands grasped her shoulders and pulled her to him.

Eve gasped just as his mouth took hers.  His tongue invaded, bringing a taste of finest Scotch and mint.  She shivered as her body responded.  With a sigh of pleasure her fingers tangled in the fine lace ruffles at his nape. 

But enough!  She wasn’t here to dally with him.  With another sigh, only regret this time, she pushed against his hard chest.  He let her go, but his heated perusal did nothing to calm the fire that flared between them.

“As tempting as your kiss is, I am here for another reason-”

“The missing emeralds.”  He reached out and one finger traced her collar bone where the emeralds once rested.  “I wondered.”

She took a deep breath and tried to bury her reaction to his touch.  She loved Sebastian.  “What do you mean?”

He turned away and moved to a coat lying over the back of a chair.  He dug in one of the copious pockets.  Coming back to her, he held out his hand.

“Oh!”  Eve stared at the jewelry nestled in his palm.  Emeralds, diamonds and gold winked and sparked in the flickering light. 

“Aye.  ‘Twas given to me for services rendered.  I brought it with me, intending to give it to the mother-to-be, but now I think it belongs to you.”

She took it from him.  “It’s the centrepiece of the necklace, but now it’s a brooch.”  She held it up.  “But much fine jewelry is made up of various pieces that can be worn in several ways.”

He nodded.  “I do not know what has happened, but my gut says the necklace must be found.  I am only sorry I have only this piece.  I would give you all if I could.”

She saw the need in his eyes, an emotion she couldn’t see in the dark of her last visit.  “Will you be all right?”

He nodded, his attention never wavering from her face, as though he stored every feature, every emotion.  “I am a chevalier of France now.  Not as exalted as an English Earl, but better than it might have been.”

“What year is this?”  Sudden fear curdled her stomach.

“Seventeen fifty-six.”  He grimaced.  “It took me awhile to earn my place, I know-“

She reached out and grabbed his arm, feeling the muscles flex beneath her fingers.  “Please, please be careful.  Never make France your permanent home.  Promise me.”

He stared at her.  “Do you know something?”

Eve bit her lip.  Should she tell him?  Would it matter?  Sparkles danced around him, as though her decision called them into being. 

“Promise me…” 

As many of you may realize, Eve is warning him about the French Revolution.  While it is still years in the future, this Sebastian is a fine specimen with every likelihood of living long enough to be caught up in the destruction and death.  Luckily, I know he heeds her warning. :)  best: Georgina Devon

p.s. be sure to look for A Christmas to Remember, a novella originally written for Zebra Regencies now on Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk