A Knight to Remember
(aka A Knight in Central Park)

2003 Golden Heart Finalist

Chapter One

“Reality can be beaten
with enough imagination."
--Anonymous

England, 1499

“Alexandra! Run! They are coming!”

Alexandra turned from her work in the fields and saw her brother, Garrett, shouting, waving his hands in the air as he ran down the hill toward her. She jabbed the spade into the dirt. “What is it, brother?”

Garrett slid to a stop before her and bent forward, his shoulders heaving from exertion. “Th--they are coming,” he said again.

“Who?”

“Sir Richard and his men.”

How could that be? Alexandra wondered. Twice, her sister Nicole had turned down Sir Richard’s proposal of marriage. Surely he had forgotten about her after all these months. But then why was he here? “Garrett,” she said firmly. “Hide. Now! Do you hear me?”

Garrett nodded, his eyes wide. “What about Grandfather?”

Thankful she had allowed her two younger sisters to accompany Nicole to the village, Alexandra pushed him along. “Tell the field hand to inform Sir Richard that we have left to visit relatives. Then stay well hidden. I will take care of Grandfather.”

She prayed for her young brother’s safety as she watched him disappear through the fields of tall wheat. ’Twas nearly dusk. She headed for the farmhouse, her mind whirling with speculation. Why had Sir Richard’s men come? She knew Richard was a stubborn man, but how far would he go?

She ran faster, hens and geese fluttering their wings as she passed. Inside, Grandfather rocked in his chair as if he had not a care in the world.

Kneeling before him she gazed into his wrinkled face and tried to catch her breath. “Grandfather, you must listen. Sir Richard and his men are headed this way.”

He looked straight through her, unblinking.

She shook his frail arms, trying to stir him to mindfulness. “Sir Richard will surely destroy the farm if I turn him away, mayhap even kill us. We must hide.”

Her grandfather was as old and gnarled as the oak tree that shaded their small home. His mind sometimes wandered aimlessly like the branches of that same tree. Once in awhile, though, his eyes would light up, as they did now, and a spark of life would come to the old man.

She breathed a sigh of relief when he stood, using his applewood cane for support as he moved toward the door. She followed him.

A sickening wave of terror welled within her belly as a trio of armor-plated men rode over the hill, a coiled snake on their shields and surcoats--Sir Richard’s insignia.

One of the men came to a halt in front of the hired hand. The two men exchanged words. Sir Richard’s man seemed to ponder on what the worker had told him before he turned and viciously struck the field hand down with one swift blow of his axe.

Alexandra held back a strangled cry then tugged frantically at her grandfather’s arm. If she could get him to the back door, they could escape through the fields and hide with Garrett. But he was like the old rooted tree, refusing to budge. “Grandfather, please do not be difficult.”

“I must find something,” he muttered. He was almost as stubborn as she, and thus she knew he would not cooperate until he had whatever ’twas he needed.

She followed him back to his room, nudging him all the way. Impatiently she watched him struggle to reach under his bed and pull out an old wooden box. As if this delay was not enough to make her scream, he then set about searching for a key.

She peered through the open door and swallowed dryly at the sight of Sir Richard’s men outside their front entry. Quietly she shut the door to Grandfather’s room, securing it with a thick wooden beam. Oblivious to their predicament, the old man searched through an ancient wooden trunk. Alexandra’s mind reeled with the absurdity of her letting him have his way--now, of all times. Raking a hand through sweat-dampened hair, she tried to think, but the thumps of heavy footfalls and clanks of armor made it impossible. “Grandfather,” she said urgently, “help me move the bed.”

A click sounded. The box opened.

Grandfather shot her a gap-toothed grin.

The door creaked in protest when someone on the other side attempted to enter.

A tip of a battleaxe hacked through the door.

“Grandfather!” she shouted.

He came to her side then and together they grunted and heaved, pushing the bed a few inches at a time.

The door splintered. Wood scraped against wood until the bed blocked the door, giving them a few minutes more.

His breathing was ragged from the effort. He looked deathly pale. “’Tis your heart?”

“Nay,” he breathed out in a huff.

“I should have knocked you out and dragged you to safety whilst I had the chance.”

“You did right. You are a good child.”

She heard men arguing outside the door. Then the axe sliced through again, its sharp edge embedded into the hard wood of Grandfather’s bed. Her heart lodged in her throat. May God have pity upon us.

“Here,” Grandfather said as he placed his cherished possession in her hand. “Take these.”

Alexandra gazed sadly at her open palm. She wanted to cry with fury and shame when she saw the source of Grandfather’s excitement--the dull, lifeless objects which had, in all probability, cost them their lives.

His ludicrous rocks.

He’d spent most of his life talking about the stones--so many stories, so long ago. According to people who knew him best, Grandfather used to be as sharp as King Henry’s blade and as clever as a fox. But that was before he had gained possession of the stones.

Alexandra peered into his eyes. He looked so brave, so fearless as their world crashed down around them. She prayed silently for her siblings. Her sisters and brother had been thorns in her sides since her mother’s death, but she would do anything to see them safely within their beds this night.

“Do not be afraid,” her Grandfather said as he closed her fingers tightly around his treasure. “You remember what to do, child. Go in search of your hero. A brave, chivalrous soul who champions right against evil and injustice, a man who--”

“I cannot,” Alexandra cried. Tears stung her eyes. Another crash on the door made her jump.

“Aye, but you can. Remember all I taught you.” He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Years ago you believed, Alexandra. Close your eyes and do not stop believing until you have returned with The One.”

“But--”

Splinters of wood rained down around them.

“Believe,” he said.

Alexandra shut her eyes. An absurd thing, bothering with these rocks in the midst of death, but what choice did she have? Take me from this place, she prayed, turning the smooth rocks within her fingers.

Give me the power before all is lost.

Instantly her skin grew clammy. No longer did she hear the clanking of armor or the loud thumps of an axe. Beams of light darted before her. Her body felt weightless.

She watched with numbed horror as the room grew dim and small. This could not be happening. ’Twas illogical.

A sickening wave of terror welled within.

Desperate to return to her grandfather, she thought of the familiar--her grandfather’s old wooden chest, the hand carved bench against the wall where she and her siblings played games.

’Twas no use.

Even the light grew hazy and dim before disappearing, leaving her in the darkness, gasping for breath, clawing at nothingness.

New York City, 2002

A blast of a trumpet sounded, bringing Alexandra to her feet. She stood still, trying to catch her breath which came out in cold white billowy puffs of air.

Strange, she thought as she glanced about. Not a trumpeter in sight. She put a hand to her chest where she could feel the steady beat of her heart. She was alive. Another moment and Sir Richard’s men would have barged through the door and mayhap killed them both.

She gazed at the stones. Had these simple rocks truly brought her through time? Could Grandfather’s stories have been naught but the truth?

Perplexed, she realized there had been five stones before, but now there were only four. She scoured the snow-covered ground, finding naught. Yet one stone was clearly missing.

A frightening thought struck her as she realized she was not in familiar territory. Where was she?

Her gaze went from a huge marble statue to a man wrapped in a coverlet, sleeping beneath an old crate. She took a step backwards when suddenly a young man walked right past her, acknowledging her presence with a nod. He had green spiky hair and carried a strange box that exploded with a ghastly noise. She covered her ears and began to walk in the opposite direction, following one of the many trails in the snow-covered grass. Her muddied slippers slid across patches of ice. Her feet felt numb.

A dull empty ache gnawed at her insides as she wondered what had happened to her. Her teeth chattered and within moments a new cacophony of sounds invaded her senses: blaring horns and the squeals of so many rusty carts. The earth groaned beneath her feet. ’Twas surely market day she thought as she moved onward.

She needed to find help.

Through the trees she saw a blur of fast-moving carriages, their wheels whirring like windmills let loose. No horse leading the way. Strange indeed.

A high-pitched bell rang out directly behind her and a gust of air brushed against her backside. She whirled about, stumbling backwards to avoid being run over by a man on a metal stick with wheels. The man’s legs went around and around in furious circles and the wheels did the same.

“Fiery flap-dragons,” she muttered. Grandfather had been telling the truth all along. Her eyes misted, her body and mind filled with bewilderment as she tried to remember the stories he had told her about his stones--about the strange places they could take her. After her mother died, his tales had been what she’d clung to instead of her mother’s skirts. His stories of strange worlds filled with flying machines and fast moving carts had made her smile again, kept her from falling into a gaping hole of despair. Mostly his stories had given her permission to believe that anything was possible...except the one thing she wanted most. Her mother. Once she realized Grandfather’s stones could never bring her mother back, she had stopped believing.

Until now.

With a trembling hand Alexandra slid the remaining stones in the hem of her skirt. ’Twas the safest place. Her teeth chattered from the biting cold as she tried to think of what to do next. First she needed to find the man Grandfather had so often spoken of. If his tales held true ’twould mean the man on wheels could have been The Chosen One. Grandfather had said she would have no need to search for help because her warrior would find her. When she gazed upon this warrior--

She chewed on her bottom lip.

Hellspawn! She could remember naught but the fact that this warrior’s eyes would be filled with desperation. Or was it despair? Something in the man’s gaze was to tell her that he was The One. Ludicrous! ’Twould be impossible to stare into the face of every man she came upon.

She studied the path in the snow where the man on wheels had disappeared. The gnawing in her gut subsided somewhat and she thanked the lord for that, for she would not let grief and sorrow determine her future. She had a family to look after. A cool breeze whipped loose strands of hair about her face as she resolved wholeheartedly to swallow her fears and self doubts. Fear would not rule her actions. She must keep her wits about her. As sure as the sun rose each day, she would do as Grandfather had instructed. She would find a hero.

She would find The Chosen One. And she would be quick about it. Never mind that finding this man and returning home with him could prove to be both her ascension and her ruination.

Her eye twitched at the thought of being shackled to a man for the remainder of her life. Most of the women in her village longed for a man’s protection, and yet once they found themselves shackled to a man, their plaints were many. She had enough responsibility; another mouth to feed, another person to care for…’twould be too much to bear. Everyone in the village knew of her fate, for they too had listened to Grandfather’s stories over the years. The prophecy declared that after The Chosen One assisted in destroying the dark cloud hovering over her family, he would then become her husband.

Being the Holder of the Stones made her the lucky bride-to-be.

A heavy sigh escaped her as she started off again, trudging her way through snow, wondering where she might find a brave, chivalrous soul who championed right against evil and injustice. A man who would never surrender or flinch in the face of the enemy.

She rolled her eyes in disgust. Such a chore would be about as easy as finding an urchin-snouted ogre. But what choice did she have? If she failed to find help before the next full moon, she would be stuck here forever.

The thought provided her a new determination that quickened her pace. For a year now she’d been caring for her younger siblings and elderly grandfather. Every day of late she’d prayed for an adventure; wishing she’d be taken far from the endless responsibilities.

Be careful what you wish for. For there was no wonder in this adventure suddenly set before her--only a sick worry that gnawed on her bones and pierced her heart with dread.

The sounds of sloshing snow and the intermittent blowing of horns grew louder as she neared the street. One glance upward caused her jaw to fall open. A massive tower of stone shadowed the people below. A stronghold larger than any castle she’d ever seen. Aye, much larger.

Having no time to gawk, she hurried on, her gaze holding fast to the magnificence of such a fortress. The soles of her worn slippers failed to grip the smooth layer of icy ground as she stepped too closely to the busy street. She fell hard and fast. A sharp pain shot through her leg. The ear-piercing blare of another trumpet sounded and she looked up in time to see a huge, glistening contraption headed straight for her.

***

“Watch out!” Shelly screamed when a pedestrian exiting Central Park suddenly jumped into the street. Or maybe the person fell, it was hard to tell.

Joe McFarland hit the brakes, causing the car to swerve on the ice-covered road. Keeping a tight grasp on the wheel, he let up on the brakes and prayed the tires would grip pavement. He flattened his palm hard on the horn and then heard a horrifying thunk.

“Oh, my God!” Shelly cried. “Did you kill her?”

Joe shoved the door open, sloshed through the snow as he made his way to the front end of his Explorer. Shelly was right, it was a woman. Her clothes were ragged and stained. Instead of shoes, she wore slippers. She looked like one of the many homeless people who inhabited the park. Her fingernails were dirty, her palms calloused.

He went down on bended knee and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. “Don’t die,” he said.

“Is she breathing?” his assistant asked.

“I don’t know. I’m not getting a pulse. Call 911.”

Joe ignored the intermittent honks and shouts of people in their cars, upset with the delay in traffic and having no idea that someone was hurt.

Unable to find a pulse, he leaned forward, placed his hand beneath the woman’s neck, and covered her mouth with his. Her lips were soft. He released three short breaths, waited, and then repeated the process. Her eyes fluttered open before he had time to think of what to do next.

He exhaled, his warm breath a puff of white mist before it evaporated.

The woman stared at him, her eyes curious.

“You’ve been in an accident,” he told her, thankful he hadn’t killed her, unsure of what to say next. “I’m Joe McFarland. I tried to steer away from you--”

“Thank goodness she’s alive,” Shelly said as she moved to his side. “An ambulance is on the way.”

The woman tried to sit up. “’Tis not a lance I need, my lady, but the knight carrying the lance.”

Shelly raised a bewildered brow.

“’Twould be kind of you to help me up,” the woman said, “I am in a dreadful hurry.”

Joe didn’t move. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Ignoring his warning, the woman struggled to get to her feet. Her legs buckled, leaving him with no choice but to catch her in his arms.

A young man behind the wheel of a small beat-up car shouted for them to get off the street. Shelly raised a fist and shook it at him.

Joe didn’t like the idea of moving the injured woman, but he couldn’t very well leave her on the cold ground either so he carried her to the passenger side of his car. Shelly opened the door and he placed the woman on the seat. As far as he could tell she wasn’t bleeding. No obvious signs of external damage--other than her odd dialect. That, and the fact that she was examining his car’s interior with a fascination usually reserved for small children on their first trip to Disneyland. He admonished himself for stiffening when her dirty fingers glided over the leather interior. She was alive and that’s all that mattered. Thank God he hadn’t killed her.

“You’re not worried about your car, are you?” Shelly whispered behind him.

“Of course not.”

Shelly sighed. “I think my heart stopped for a minute there.”

“Yeah, another foot into the street,” Joe said, “and she wouldn’t have had a chance.” He raked fingers through his hair. They both watched the woman continue her detailed inspection of his Explorer as she pushed a few buttons, causing the sunroof to slide open and the windshield wipers to squeak against the glass.

Joe looked at Shelly. “Did you hear her speak?”

“Maybe she knocked her head when you hit her,” Shelly said as she moved to the woman’s side. “Her teeth are chattering. She’s freezing.” She turned to Joe. “Give me your coat.”

He pulled off his jacket and handed it to her. Shelly placed it over the woman’s shoulders and they both watched the woman rub her cheek against the soft fabric.

Joe glanced at his watch as he wondered what was taking the ambulance so long.

“Help is on the way,” Shelly told the woman. “Do you know your name?”

The woman frowned. “Only a dim-witted lewdster would fail to remember his own name.”

Lewdster?

“Okay,” Shelly said next, “What is it then?”

“Alexandra Alienna Dunn.”

“That’s some name.”

“’Twas my mother’s doing. She was certain she was having twins and thus could not bear to surrender either name when she had only one babe.”

“Fascinating,” Shelly said. “Now how many fingers am I holding up?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “You think I have had no schooling? I may not be of noble birth, but do not assume I cannot read nor write. My Grandfather--”

“No, of course not,” Shelly interrupted. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t hit your head when the Professor ran into you, that’s all.”

The woman glanced past Shelly, looking at him instead, peering deep into his eyes, making him feel as if he were hiding some deep dark secret.

Joe jangled the change in his pocket, relieved to hear sirens. The woman’s eyes lit up at the sound, but she continued to stare at him with an intensity that made him nervous. The ambulance weaved through traffic. A police car pulled up to the curb behind them.

As Shelly went to talk to the paramedics, the woman’s attention returned to the interior of his car. Her face was smudged with dirt. It was impossible to tell the color of her hair because it was matted to her head and half covered with muck. Without much thought to what he was doing he bent forward and removed a leaf from behind her ear.

She slapped his arm.

“Ow! What did you do that for?”

“For touching me and for kissing me earlier.”

An incredulous laugh escaped him. If not for her long hair and the small bones of her wrists, he would’ve thought she was a boy. “I wasn’t kissing you. I tried to feel for your pulse and when I couldn’t find one, I--”

She gazed downward, touching herself as if to make sure he hadn’t done any damage.

He rolled his eyes. “I was trying to breathe air into your lungs--”

“Do it again and I shall scream.”

“Well, this is just great,” he muttered, thankful to see Shelly heading back with the EMT’s. “They’ll take you to the hospital,” he said with a sigh. “I’ll stay here and fill out an accident report.”

Even beneath the dirt he saw her face pale considerably. “You don’t have to worry about payment,” he said, figuring money was the reason for her concern, “I’ll take care of it.”

“I have not the time to go with those people. I must find the man on wheels.”

Joe glanced around. “I didn’t see a man on wheels.”

“Nay, I do not suppose you did.”

Her sarcasm rang clear. “Now look here, I can see just fine. My car skidded on the ice--there was nothing I could do. It was an accident.”

Her eyes widened. And then she peered deeply into his eyes again as if she were trying to determine if they’d met before. She pointed a finger at him. “’Tis you!”

Joe grimaced. He could see personal injury lawsuit written all over her face. “Yes, it was me--my fault.”

“Nay,” she said, “’tis not what I mean. The man on wheels was not The One after all. You are The One!”

“Afraid so,” he said glumly, wondering what it would take to get this woman into the ambulance and out of his hair. He didn’t need to be a doctor to see that she wasn’t dying. Clearly her larynx was in fine shape, making it hard for him to believe that she was injured at all.

“Both you and your lady friend avowed that you ran into me, did you not?”

Joe exhaled heavily. “I don’t know about ‘avowed’. And she’s not exactly my lady friend, although she is my friend.”

He felt bad enough and people were beginning to gather. The last thing he needed was for someone to recognize him or for one of his students to drive by. He certainly didn’t need any negative publicity right now. Not when he had the Academy reviewing his files, watching his every move.

“Look into my eyes once more,” the woman demanded.

Joe gestured for Shelly to hurry with the stretcher.

“Ah ha!” she said, startling him. “Verily I do say you look a bit dizzy-eyed and desperate.”

Shelly appeared and the woman looked to her for affirmation. “His lordship appears desperate, does he not?”

Shelly hardly flinched at his being referred to as ‘his lordship.’ She just studied his face then shrugged noncommittally. “Yeah, sure, I guess you could say that. But maybe distressed would better describe his expression.”

“Distressed,” Alexandra repeated softly. “Aye, distressed will do.”

***

Joe McField...or was it McFaraway? Either way he was The Chosen One--the man who was going to save her family, her home.

The man she would someday marry.

She wrinkled her nose and then turned her thoughts to the ride here and the mind-boggling speed in which the horseless carriage had brought her to this place. She looked about, astonished by such cleanliness. Shelly had told her that only the sick and injured stayed in the fortress. The walls and floors were as stark and clean as the finest linen back home.

A gray-haired woman clad in white, fiddled with a metal box nearby and then left the room. The bed across from Alexandra was empty and neatly made. No dirt or food scraps covered the floors, not one blade of grass or straw could be seen. How wondrously strange all of these items of the future. Grandfather had said there would be unimaginable objects in this other world, and certainly he was right. Carriages without horses, flashing lights above the streets...and without use of a flame! If only Grandfather could be here with her to see it all with his own eyes.

Alexandra scratched at her bandaged leg, then fell back onto the soft pillow. Not one to dawdle, ’twas difficult for her to sit still. With naught else to keep her busy, she found herself recalling the determined, unwavering glint in her hero’s dark blue eyes. That look had told her everything she needed to know. The man who called himself Joe was to be her knight.

“Sir Joe,” she said aloud.

As a child she had thought her champion would possess a name like Drake or George. Even Thomas had a certain ring to it, conjuring images of strong warriors from the past. But Joe? Her shoulders dipped. His name mattered not. Only that he was determined, strong, and brave enough to conquer Sir Richard and his men.

Now she needed only to convince Sir Joe to return home with her. Until the next full moon, she could not let him out of her sight. She tapped a finger to her chin, endeavoring to come up with a plan when the door suddenly swung open.

The very man who filled her thoughts appeared, looking tall and broad-shouldered as he entered the room. She cocked her head for a better look at the strange headgear he wore over his eyes. He had not been wearing the odd apparatus earlier. “What is that strapped across your face?”

He took them off. “My glasses?”

“Aye,” she said, reaching for them and then placing the apparatus over her eyes. “What do they-- Oh, my, they are ghastly.” She blinked to regain a clearer vision.

He plucked them from her clutches and tucked them into his shirt pocket. “You’ve never seen a pair of eyeglasses before?”

“Nay. I thought you said your eyesight was that of an owl.”

Sir Joe seemed skeptical, uneasy. She figured now was not the time to tell him of his destiny...his quest.

“They’re for reading. Listen, I talked to the doctor. He said you have some bruising, but no broken bones. You’ll be up and about in a few days.”

“My leg itches terribly. Can you not remove the bandages for a moment?”

He shook his head. “Here,” he said, gathering a stack of bound papers from a nearby table. “Maybe this will help keep your mind off the itch.”

She took the thick parchment he offered, feeling the smooth texture with her fingertips. She turned the thick pile of parchment over and gasped at the sight of a woman in full color, dressed in strange undergarments, her bosom heaved against colorful fabric. “Do women dress like this in your time?”

Joe glanced at the picture. “I wish,” he said with a smile.

“What do you wish?”

“Nothing, I was kidding.”

Alexandra looked at the colored drawing again. No one she had seen so far had been dressed like this Jezebel, but Sir Joe wished for all women to wear this sort of garb. She smiled inwardly. Sir Joe, it seemed, was quite the rogue.

“Do you have a relative I could call?” he asked, his tone more serious. “Someone to come get you?”

“Nay, everyone I know is far, far away.” A thought struck her. “Surely you’ll not leave me to fend for myself after striking me down?”

“It was an accident,” he said. “If you give me the name of a friend, anyone at all, I’ll contact them and make sure they know you’re here.”

Joe glanced at his watch. If he left this minute he might get to Suzanne’s place in time for dinner with her parents. Although missing dinner altogether had its appeal, he had canceled last week and they’d never forgive him if he was to be so rude again. “Where do you live? I’ll have Shelly drop you there after you’re released. How about that?”

“I have no place to go, Sir Joe.”

He pressed a finger to his temple. “Don’t you think ‘Sir Joe’ is overdoing it a bit?” He studied her face for a moment, wondered what kind of game she was playing.

Before she could reply the door swung open and Shelly entered. “Does it hurt?” Shelly asked Alexandra as she went to the woman’s side.

Joe shifted his weight from one foot to the other and glanced at his watch again.

“Nay, ’tis not so bad.”

Her ridiculous dialect was driving him nuts. Every ’tis and ’twas made his teeth clench tighter. He wrapped his hand around his assistant’s arm, excused them both, pulling her from the room and into the hallway. The door shut softly behind them. He kept his voice low. “She claims to have no place to stay. The woman is nuts. I really think she believes she’s from another century.”

Shelly’s eyes lit up as they often did when an idea came to her. “Let her stay at your place for a few days. At least until she can get around.”

“Absolutely not. This isn’t like bringing home a stray puppy or a kitten. She’s human—at least I think she is.”

“Oh, come on. She looks perfectly innocent to me and she’s extremely sweet natured. What harm could she do? You’ve got plenty of room in your apartment and the publicity might do you some good. You want to impress the Academy, don’t you? The headlines will read: Joe McFarland Helps the Homeless.”

“Forget it, she’s a lunatic. She could be a thief for all I know.”

Shelly plunked a hand on her hip. “And exactly how much of your property is she going to carry off with a bum leg?”

“She could be on drugs. The last thing I need are needles scattered about my coffee table.”

The doctor swept past and they both watched as he went into Alexandra’s room.

“Did you see that gorgeous man?” Shelly asked. “Was that Alexandra’s doctor?”

Joe’s temples throbbed. “Yes, and I didn’t see a ring on his finger. I need to go. Here,” he said, handing Shelly his keys. “You take my car and I’ll catch a cab. I filled out the required forms and told the hospital staff to bill me. See if they can keep Alexandra overnight. If it will make you feel better, I’ll come back tomorrow and find her a place to stay. One of those shelters for women...or something.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Shelly said, “but don’t think I won’t remember this. You owe me one.”

Joe shot her a quick smile, then jogged down the hall toward the open elevator.

Chapter Two

“You may delay, but time will not.”
--Benjamin Franklin

The fullness of the moon lit up the street as Joe handed the cab driver a twenty. Joe took his change and headed toward his condo. Shuffling his hands in his pockets, he remembered that he’d given his assistant his car keys, which meant she also had the keys to his house.

Damn. Nothing had gone right all day. He’d missed an important meeting this morning, hit a homeless woman, Suzanne was no longer speaking to him, and now he’d have to break into his own home.

The bedroom window on the east side had a flimsy latch. He’d try that first. His feet crunched on the icy snow as he went around the side of the building. Sirens wailed in the distance. He jiggled the window frame, congratulated himself when the lock came loose. Trying hard not to wake his neighbor, Mrs. Peacock, he took his time raising the wood frame an inch at a time. Once the window was wide enough to fit his body, he got a good grip of the windowsill and pushed himself headfirst through the opening. Sprawled out on the floor on his belly, he immediately sensed someone lurking in the shadows.

He heard a movement to his right. Saw a flash of glinting metal just before something hard connected with his head. A shocking bolt of pain pierced through his skull as he faded into oblivion.

***

Joe put a hand to his head and felt a knot the size of a walnut. Though his vision was blurred there was no mistaking the woman hovering over him as his eyes adjusted to the dark. The woman he’d left in the hospital hours ago had somehow tracked him down and snuck into his house. “What the hell did you do that for, and what are you doing in my home?”

“No need to curse,” Alexandra said. “Your assistant brought me here.”

He glared at her.

“How was I to know ’twas you?”

His blood surged as he sat up. “I live here.”

“Shelly assured me you would enter through the front entry if you were to come home.”

“I would have come through the front entry,” he said through clenched teeth, “if I had had my keys.”

“Perhaps next time you will remember them.”

Examining the knot on his head with his fingertips, he tried to think of a clever reply as his vision became less hazy. She looked different. She wore a floor length cotton nightgown and her hair--a mass of fiery red curls--fell over her shoulders like a silk shawl.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “What are you gawking at?”

Tired, frustrated, and in pain, Joe tried to shake his head but it hurt too much. He lifted himself from the floor, grabbed the robe slung over the end of the bed and tossed it to her. “Nothing,” he growled. He stepped closer to her, leaned his body into hers, ignoring her gasps, perhaps even enjoying them as he reached around her, quite slowly and quite purposefully as he quite innocently switched on the lamp.

“There,” he said, stepping back. “Is something wrong?”

She pushed her arms into the robe and pulled the sash tight. “Nay, naught is wrong, Sir Joe.”

“Just call me Joe.”

He shook his head, wincing at the pain such a small movement caused. “Unbelievable.”

She cocked her head. “What?”

“The fact that I’m having any sort of conversation at all with a woman who has limped her way into my house without permission only to knock me over the head with a--” He glanced around the room. “What did you hit me with?”

Apprehensively she pulled a toilet plunger from under the blankets. Not just any plunger either. This one had a solid handle of brushed steel. No wonder his head felt the way it did.

He took the weapon from her and set it out of her reach. “I hit you with my car and now you’ve hit me with a plunger. I’d say we’re even.”

She frowned. “Is it bleeding?”

“No,” he said as he took a seat in the heavily upholstered chair, facing the bed. “Go ahead, get back in bed.”

For the first time since he’d met her, she looked wary of him, maybe even intimidated. He figured she deserved it. If she wanted to sleep in the home of a man she didn’t even know then she’d have to face the consequences.

He tapped a finger to his knee and waited for her to climb into bed, finding himself ridiculously mesmerized by her wriggling bottom as she struggled to do so.

“Now explain what you’re doing here,” he said after she adjusted the blankets.

“As I said before, your lady friend brought me.”

Somehow he managed to remain calm. “I want to know why you’re really here. Is this something you do on a regular basis--step in front of cars, hoping to find shelter for a few days, a few weeks--maybe months?”

“If I speak the truth, will you promise to hear me out?”

“Promise,” he said, leaning back into the chair. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Thirty minutes later Joe realized they were getting absolutely nowhere. As she rambled on, he found himself wishing he’d never asked the question. He should’ve left well enough alone and gone up to bed the moment he’d seen that it was her. Instead he listened as she babbled on about coming from a time when knights roamed England and castles were common. The late fifteenth century to be exact, when King Henry VII held the throne, uniting the houses of Lancaster and York. Joe guessed that Alexandra had majored in medieval history before going off the deep end. “So,” he said, when she paused for a breath, “you’re from another time?”

“Aye.”

“And you have until the next full moon to get help?”

She nodded and added in a serious tone, “King Henry is very sly. He has taxed the common people heavily, which has made circumstances around our village unsafe. Noblemen like Sir Richard are doing as they please, taking from the poor until there is naught left but bitterness and fear. ’Twould seem Sir Richard has his mind set on marrying my sister, but I will not allow it. He is a cruel and evil man, which is why I am here.”

He cocked his head. “And why is that?”

“To get help, of course.”

“Of course.” First thing in the morning he was going to hunt Shelly down and let her have it for leaving this woman in his house.

Alexandra settled back into the mounds of pillows. “’Tis a relief to have it all off my chest. I was afraid you would not believe a word I uttered, for even I failed to believe my grandfather’s tales. But you, Sir Joe, are a suitable listener, indeed. Shelly said you were a kind, generous man and I should have known after our meeting this morn that you would not turn me away.”

“And how would you know that?”

“Because your kindness shimmers in your eyes like a lost treasure in the sand.”

He cocked a brow. “Is that so?”

She nodded. “You are a gentle warrior with a good heart, and you are going to help me. ’Tis your destiny. My instincts tell me all of this. My instincts rarely fail me.”

She looked so innocent, so earnestly naïve that he could hardly stand the thought of disappointing her. Why upset her tonight? What good would it do? He gave her a pitiful smile. “I’ll help you. First thing in the morning.”

He stood. His head still throbbed as he went to the window and closed it, making a mental note to have the lock fixed.

Her eyes were closed by the time he turned back. He watched her snuggle against her pillow like a contented cat before he headed for the door.

“Sir Joe,” she called softly.

He turned and leaned against the doorframe. “What is it now?”

“Thank you. Grandfather said I would find a brave champion to help us...and he was right.”

Something twisted in his gut. To think she thought of him as her champion when all he wanted was to get her out of his home as quickly as possible was more than his conscience could stand. “Is there anything you need?”

No response. Just like that she’d fallen asleep. Probably hadn’t slept in a regular bed in months.

He went back to her bedside to turn off the lamp. Strange, he thought as he watched her for a moment, how different she looked from earlier in the day when her hair was matted to her head and dirt covered her face. She was actually pretty in a cute, impish sort of way. With her red hair, small nose and fine cheekbones, she looked like a fairy princess who’d come right out of a children’s book.

Too bad she was as crazy as a loony bird, he thought as he clicked off the light.

***

Alexandra bolted upright in bed, her heart fluttering against her chest. The darkness swallowed her whole. Where was she? Her brother needed her. She had to find him. Her feet hit the ground and pain shot up her leg, but naught could keep her from Garrett.

She hobbled across the room, made her way through the door, clawing through the darkness and gulping furiously for air as if she were drowning. The dark terrified her almost as much as the thought of not being able to find her brother.

He needed her.

She felt his very essence as he called for her, leading her up the stairs of some strange, forbidding castle, the hardwood floor cold against her feet. Panic choked her as she limped from one room to the next, afraid of what she may or may not find.

And then she saw him. Lying on a bed of downy blankets. Up close, she saw his dark head of hair peeking from beneath the linen sheets. “Thank you, Lord, for keeping him safe,” she whispered as she edged herself next to him.

She closed her eyes. She would let Garrett sleep a bit longer, at least until she caught her breath. Then she would take her brother back home where they would both be safe.

***

Alexandra yawned and peeked through one eye, noting the streaks of sunlight coming through the window and hitting the wall just so. As she stretched an arm toward the speckled ceiling every bone and muscle in her body tensed.

Something was amiss.

The walls were neither stone nor wattle and daub, but covered with colored parchment instead. She felt a movement upon her chest and stifled a gasp. Slowly, afraid of what she might see, she peered downward. A hand lay upon her breast. A large masculine hand that rose and fell with each breath she took. Time held still as she turned her head until she was gazing into the sleeping face of Sir Joe.

She’d done it again.

She had walked in her sleep. And right into Sir Joe’s bedchamber. She tried not to wake him as she pondered on her predicament. Her nose itched and her leg began to cramp.

As if he sensed her dilemma, Sir Joe stirred, pulling her snug against him until her lips were pressed firmly to the hard cords of his neck.

She dared not breathe.

If he found her here in his bed he would surely throw her out on the streets. ’Twas not Sir Joe’s fault she walked in her sleep and crawled into his bed.

His stubbled jaw rested on her forehead. He mumbled incoherently for a moment before falling silent again. She was sure he had drifted back to sleep until his fingers began to massage her chest. She’d never had her breast kneaded in such a way. She sucked in a deep breath.

Sir Joe smelled nice, like pine-scented soap and the fresh outdoors. She stifled a groan at the sensation he caused her. Surely this wasn’t how a man was supposed to make a woman feel. Although the men in her time didn’t pay her much attention, she wasn’t an inexperienced lass...not completely. She’d been kissed more than once and she’d never forget Sir Lionel’s fast and fumbling hands before she kicked him on the shin.

With her face pressed against Sir Joe ’twas awkward, but she could see that his shoulders were well muscled and he had lots of dark curly hairs sprinkled about his chest. She never would have guessed that such a wonderful specimen of a man was hidden beneath those strange garments he wore.

Sir Joe mumbled again, prompting her to ease her way off the bed. But before she could get away, he opened his eyes and she froze.

They were nose to nose.

She felt compelled to say something. “Good day, Sir Joe. I trust you slept well?”

She followed his sluggish sleepy-eyed gaze to where his hand lay on her chest.

As if he were afire he tossed the covers aside and jumped from the bed. He pointed a reproving finger in her direction, his face a fiery red. “What are you doing in my bed?”

Towering over her with that menacing frown, he seemed to have overlooked the fact that he wore not a stitch of clothing. Or mayhap he enjoyed flaunting himself in such a manner. He had one of the finest chests she’d ever seen on a man. And she’d indeed seen her share considering she hired no less than a dozen men whenever the crops warranted it. But not one of those men had ever taken off his breeches and stood naked before her as Sir Joe was doing now. His rigid manliness demanded her attention. She stared with wide, unblinking eyes, unable to bring herself to look away.

With an exasperated shake of his head, Sir Joe retrieved his clothing from across the room and stepped hastily into his breeches. “Alexandra,” he said as he turned back to her, “what kind of game are you playing?”

“’Tis no game, I swear. I have been cursed all of my life with a sleep-walking ailment.”

His face was pinched tight. “You are certifiably insane.”

“But you will help me nonetheless?”

With his face an annoyed shade of red and his teeth clenched together in such a menacing way, he looked angry enough to take on Sir Richard and his men.

The thought cheered her immeasurably.