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?

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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…

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?

Lost in Time: His Lady in Green, Chapter Eleven

by Barbara Monajem

The stairs went on and on. The night grew darker and the staircase narrower, and suddenly there was no balustrade, no protection from a perilous drop. Eve fell to her knees, assailed by vertigo. She shivered, wishing this was all a dream, knowing it was not.

Ahead of her loomed a heavy wooden door, slightly ajar. She crawled up the last few stairs and stood, repulsed by the odors of this place. Smoke and sweat, dirt and rodents, blood…blood?

Behind the door, a woman shrieked. ‘No, my lord! The vision changed right before my eyes, I swear!’

‘You’re no fortune teller, but a Saxon spy,’ a man growled. ‘No one toys with Richard d’Aubenay and lives to tell the tale.’

Horrified, Eve shoved open the door. The room was small, square, and dim, with only slits for windows. The man wore what looked like a padded tunic, with a jeweled dagger in his belt. He towered over a woman in rags, who scrambled among the rushes on the floor to gather some sticks. Chain mail lay across a wooden bench. Was that blood on the mail and on the man’s tunic and leggings? He must have just returned from battle. His dark hair was cropped short; his helmet with its nose guard lay on the floor. All at once Eve knew—he was a Norman knight. The first of the Daubenays!

‘I swear by the blood of our Lord!’ The woman wept as she picked up the sticks. ‘I saw a vision of a grand castle with gonfanons flying, and lords and ladies in costumes such as no man has ever seen. All was joy and dancing…and then, of a sudden, the castle was in ruins and the people gone, but for one lone man in the last crumbling tower, his dark head in his hands!’

‘Mordieu!’ Richard drew his dagger. ‘First you predict glory, and then disaster. Which is it? I care not which; I only seek to know whether to stay in this godforsaken land or return to my beloved Normandy.  But mark my words, whether I stay or leave will make no difference to you barbarians. What King William has, he holds, and to those who wish him harm, he shows no mercy.’

She clutched the sticks to her chest. ‘I am no spy, but a poor, helpless woman.’

‘God’s teeth, stop groveling. Just tell me which vision was the truth!’

‘I don’t know,’ she wailed. ‘Both were—or could be true. Give me leave to try again.’ She knelt on a white cloth, her hands shaking as she spread the sticks. They had strange symbols on them—runes. This woman practiced cleromancy! She grabbed a stick at random, glanced at it, and squeezed her eyes shut, mumbling under her breath. Praying, no doubt, for something convincing to say.

So far, neither Richard nor the woman had noticed Eve, frozen by the door.

The woman’s eyes flew open. ‘It is because of the stones,’ she breathed. ‘Sparkling green stones...a necklace of surpassing splendor…’ She moaned. ‘The future was bright, but then the stones were gone, and all fell in ruins.’

Eve clapped a hand to her breast. She gasped.  The necklace wasn’t there! ‘Oh, no!’

Richard turned, scowling but unsurprised. ‘I said I would call when I needed—’ He stopped, giving a long, low whistle. ‘You’re not like the usual girls they send to service me.’

Eve shuddered. He was doubtless a powerful, virile man, but she wasn’t here to, er, service him, regardless of what he assumed. But that danger was nothing to the catastrophe facing her. She had lost the Meryngham emeralds…and with them, the future as it was meant to be.

She had to find the necklace. Frantically, she searched her memory for the last time she’d felt them at her breast, the last time one of the Daubenay men had mentioned them. The Georgian gentleman hadn’t… Had the Regency bloke? The…

 ‘Who are you?’ Richard demanded.

‘The-the Lady in Green.’

He rolled his eyes, indicating her gown. ‘Obviously.’

He’d never heard of the Lady in Green, because the legend hadn’t yet begun. Perhaps it was supposed to begin here and now…or a century or two later; Eve didn’t know.

What a fool she was. She’d flitted from era to era, flirting with one Daubenay ancestor after another like a silly girl in a romantic dream. She’d been like a fan girl with Sebastian, too—so caught up in his wealth and status that she’d never realized the responsibility he bore now, and would bear when he became Earl of Meryngham. Centuries of noblesse oblige weighed upon her. She was pitifully unsuited for the role of his wife. She’d proven it by losing the emeralds—and destroying his future!

‘You’ll do,’ Richard said with a lecherous smile, ‘once I’ve taken care of this fraud.’ He raised his dagger.

The woman cowered and sobbed. ‘Have mercy, lord, have mercy!’

‘Don’t!’ Eve cried. ‘It’s not her fault, it’s mine. Her vision was true. I have seen the future, nearly a thousand years from now.’

Richard lowered his dagger and stared at her.

‘I was born there, lived there, and hoped to marry the heir to the Daubenays.’ Eve backed toward the door. Once again, she had to get away.

No, she didn’t. A Daubenay wouldn’t run. She would stand her ground. ‘The future is—was truly wondrous, until I lost the emeralds—the green stones of which she speaks. Spare her, please. I’ll find the emeralds and return, and you’ll see that what I say is true.’

His brows rose. Suddenly eager, he said, ‘A quest?’

She nodded, fear and determination battling within her. 

Richard grinned. ‘A pity you cannot wed this d’Aubenay, but my descendant will be fortunate to win you.’ He turned the dagger and proffered the hilt to Eve. ‘Take this as my token, and may God be with you.’

~~~~~

Come back Monday as Eve embarks on her quest!

Barbara Monajem is the author of the May Day Mischief duet of Regency novellas, which will be released in April and May.

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…