Chapter 9
One thing Jordan wasn’t used to was being bossed around by his younger sister. She might have been the so-called expert of this time due to being there longer, but he wasn’t going to take her word as law. The moment he heard Leo snoring away in his bed, Jordan got up off his pallet on the floor and crawled to the door. He had to stop every three seconds because he was positive every creak of his elbow joints or the slightest tap on the floor was going to wake up the ex-knight. But his battle senses must have been dulled to complacence in the safe, cozy castle because Jordan eventually made it to the door.
He prayed to every entity he could think of before easing it open an inch. No squeaks, so he took a moment to thank all the entities before slowly sliding it open enough for him to crawl out. He continued on his hands and knees for several feet outside before standing up and jogging as silently as he could down the stairs. He managed to find his way to an outside area behind the kitchen. After a frustrating half an hour, he finally got outside the walls. A good lot of that was waiting for the guards on the wall to be in a position not to see him when he was on the other side. He had no doubt at all he’d be in big trouble if not dead if he was caught racing toward the forest.
But there he was, racing toward the forest once again, expecting an arrow in his back at any moment. It wasn’t until he was twenty feet inside the treeline that he slowed his pace. He had no idea if he was anywhere near where he first met Lyra, but she was a witch who could travel through time. He expected her to be able to find him.
“Lyra,” he hissed. Nothing, not even the rustle of a small animal. He hoped there were only small animals out here. He deepened his voice. “Lyra, I summon you to keep your promise.”
He sat down and leaned against a tree. He hadn’t really expected his dramatics to work, but he was desperate. He’d try anything. Despite the cold, he dozed off, only to be awakened by twigs snapping nearby. There was a rustle of fabric and Lyra stepped into the clearing. Or Marjorie. He rubbed his sleep-clouded eyes and stood up.
“Who are you?” he asked.
He received a sour look. “Who do you think?”
“I honestly don’t know.” He took a step forward and peered at her face. She stared right back at him coldly. “You look exactly the same.”
“What do you want?” she snapped. “I told you I couldn’t help you anymore.”
Despite her words, he smiled with relief. “It is you, Lyra. Why did you make yourself look so much like someone at the castle? I acted like a crazy person around her because of it.”
“Sit down,” she said, already settling her skirts around her on the ground. He sat across from her, still fascinated by how much she looked like Marjorie. And she was so beautiful he couldn’t have stopped staring at her if he tried. “Quit your ogling,” she told him. Okay, her icy tone had him looking down at his lap quickly enough. “I look like her because I am her, you dolt.”
His eyes felt like they might pop out of his head. “So you were pretending earlier. But why? We were alone. Is it that unsafe to talk at the castle?”
She closed her eyes and he swore she was silently counting in her head so she wouldn’t hit him. Which was unfair, because what did he know? Nothing. Nothing unless she told him. He started to work up a righteous anger until she stopped him with her next words.
“Stop accosting the girl in the castle. This is merely a vessel so I could get here.” She waved her hands around her body—Marjorie’s body—signaling what the vessel was.
A chill ran over him. He hadn’t signed up to be part of possessing someone. He found he couldn’t look at Lyra at all now. He stared at his hands, willing all his courage to come out.
“You—you can’t get here on your own? Your own physical form, I mean?”
“Stupid boy,” she hissed. “Did I ever leave your side when I went back before, while you were with me? At the fields, at the ruin?”
No, she didn’t. He was stupid. An idiot of the first order. He deserved every punch his sister had rained down on him, and more. “You can’t time travel at all.” His voice was as dull and lifeless as he felt.
“I’m here speaking with you, aren’t I? What else would you call it?”
“Possessing someone,” he said in disgust. “Like an evil spirit. God, that poor girl.”
She slapped him so hard his head rocked to the side. “This poor girl is the cause of all your troubles. Don’t feel sorry for her.”
“What? What do you mean?” He didn’t care if he got hit again. He wanted answers. Answers he felt he should have gotten before he came here. “Tell me,” he demanded.
She rolled her eyes. Eyes he now noticed were unfocused and vacant. He forced himself not to back away from her. The Marjorie puppet.
“This girl summoned me long ago, dragged me here from far, far away. The curse you’re under is her doing.”
He leaned back, having to catch himself with his palms to keep from being knocked flat at that news. “What?” he asked.
“What?” She mimicked him, same raised tone, same incredulous face. Then laughed.
Had she been this hateful in his own time? Thinking back, he knew she had. He’d always had a skin-crawling, slightly sick feeling after he met with her. She’d always scared him, but he’d chalked it up to him realizing that her powers were real, that magic was real. Those thoughts had given him the heebie jeebies. And it had been his desperation that kept him from running far and fast, no matter how his goosebumps begged him to get away from her. Had Marjorie been so desperate at one time that she called up this creature to help her? And had Lyra twisted it the way she’d twisted what she’d done for him?
“You promised I could get back,” he said. “Was that a lie?”
“You can get back. But you have to break the curse.”
He bit back another disbelieving “what” because he knew she would mock him again. He hated the thing that propped up the innocent maid she’d inhabited. But if Marjorie really had originally called up the curse, was she so innocent?
“Okay,” he said as reasonably as he could. He wouldn’t poke a bear, so he definitely shouldn’t poke this source of pure evil. “I have to break the curse? I read the poem, I read the book, I talked to my sister and Fay. It says we have to prove true love and faithfulness aren’t a lie. So it should already be broken. Fay and her husband are in love. And Sophie honestly seems to love that person she’s with. Are you saying their love isn’t true? Or is it because they aren’t faithful? How can it know that if it doesn’t give them a chance? What does the damned thing want?”
She shrugged infuriatingly. “It’s not my curse. Maybe the wrong people are finding love.”
“That’s not fair,” he said, knowing how stupid it was the second the words were out. He held up his hand to keep Lyra from laughing at him some more. But it wasn’t fair. “Did you come because I summoned you?” he asked. That would be helpful to know. He didn’t especially want her around now that he knew how she came here, but he might need her. She was his only link back to his own time.
She narrowed her eyes. “I came because she let me.” She leaned back against the nearest tree and crossed her arms over her chest. “She’s annoyingly strong.”
Not liking that answer for more reasons than he could count, he gave up trying to get anything else out of her. Just like Sophie had said, he had to jump through the curse’s hoops and fall in love. Lyra smiled at him, or rather, turned up the corners of poor Marjorie’s pretty lips. He stood up and walked away from her, not looking back.
*
Marjorie tossed and turned, trying to break free from a terrible nightmare. She knew it was a dream she was trapped in because none of it made sense. Why didn’t Batty holler for her to wake up? She wanted so badly to wake up.
Anne was dead. The pain of it was so strong she cried out, wept, ground her teeth. A man was beside her, crying as hard as she was. Sir Walter? No, a younger man. A handsome man. Marjorie thought she had warm feelings for him because he had also loved Anne. But then he turned into a monster. A leering fiend who wanted to steal Marjorie away. Away from what was left of her family. Everything about him that had made her think he was a fine, noble man was a lie. The day had come, she was in a cage. She couldn’t see the bars, but they were there. She could feel them. She begged for help, running and running until a voice stopped her.
I’ll help you …
Marjorie woke up, her cheeks and pillow wet with tears. She scrambled out of bed and raced through the adjoining door to Anne’s room. She lay, still and pale on her bed, her arms crossed peacefully on her chest.
“No,” Marjorie cried out, racing to the bedside, praying she was still stuck in the nightmare.
“Goodness, Marjorie,” Anne said, sitting straight up. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, a worried look on her sleep-creased face. “What is it? Are we under attack?”
Marjorie shuddered out a sob and covered her face in her hands. “It’s nothing, I apologize.” She looked out Anne’s window, grateful to see a hint of dawn creeping through. At least she hadn’t awoken her mistress in the middle of the night. Anne was an early riser. Perhaps she wouldn’t be too angry with her.
Instead of acting angry at all, when she lowered her hands Marjorie saw Anne looking at her with concern. “Was it one of your nightmares?” she asked.
One of them? Did she have so many Anne had noticed? Yes, she supposed they’d been plaguing her for some time now. She sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry I woke you with my foolishness. And you’ve been unwell.”
Please don’t let the nightmare be a premonition, she prayed.
Anne yawned and stretched. “Nonsense. That little cough is nothing. And we have so much to do to get ready for Lord Drayton that you’ve helped by waking me a bit early. Let’s get those layabouts Sophie and Fay to help us as well. Fay may be married and belong to a different household now, but I can never consider her a guest. Let’s put her to work while she’s still here.”
Marjorie smiled and hurried to help Anne into a gown, then went and got herself dressed, tossing a slipper at Batty to wake the maid up.
“I can’t believe you’re up before me,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “Did you have a nightmare?”
Marjorie sat next to Batty and looked her in the eye. “Do I have so many nightmares?” she asked. “Do I frequently toss and turn?”
“You moan and cry out sometimes, too,” Batty said. “It’s not so many, though. I don’t think you need an exorcism quite yet.”
Marjorie shivered. She knew Batty was teasing her but that kind of talk scared her. “Hurry and get your lazy Lady Sophie out of bed. We have more work to do than we can possibly get done if she doesn’t help.”
Batty fluttered away to wake Sophie and she went to go start with the laundry. A never ending task that took all the longer now that Catherine was so far pregnant and moved so slowly. Still, she liked talking with the stable master’s wife. She was relatively new to the castle and had many interesting stories about her old life in the village. Normally, Mr. Merrick would have moved away with his new wife and they would have replaced him with his apprentice, but they hadn’t lost a foal or a mare in years and Sir Walter loved the man too much to let him go.
On her way to the courtyard, she saw Lord Jordan walking straight at her. She faltered and would have sworn if she wasn’t so well-bred. She couldn’t turn and run, so she tilted her chin and kept going.
“Please, Marjorie, may I have a word with you?” he asked. She hadn’t stopped when he did, but now he walked along beside her.
“You seem to know my name by now,” she said haughtily.
She gave him her death glare. Between the tone and her stern face, she didn’t understand why he wasn’t leaving her alone. It always worked with the squires when they troubled her with too much attention. She remembered Batty saying he might have been stunned by their beauty. Could it be he found her so beautiful he couldn’t stop following her like the dogs who hung around the kitchen? She almost laughed at that notion. Unfortunately, she did smile, which he took to be aimed at him.
“Just one small, tiny moment,” he asked. He seemed far more hale and hearty than he did the night before. The memory of him sinking to the floor in defeat and despair made her stop.
“A moment, then,” she said, hands on hips, face still set in a scowl. Still, he beamed down at her as if she’d offered him a ruby instead of a rude look.
He looked around. “Do you … what do you know about the curse?” he asked, all seriousness.
And here she thought he was well again. He was as sick in the mind as he’d been the first time he bothered her. “I beg your pardon, Lord Jordan, but I know nothing of curses and I certainly don’t want to spend my time thinking of them.” She crossed herself for good measure, Batty’s teasing about the exorcism fresh in her mind.
“Not just any curse,” he pleaded. “A specific curse. Your curse.”
She gasped. Enough was enough. He was a guest in her benefactor’s home, but she didn’t think she needed to be polite to such horrid accusations. To say she was cursed? How dare he? Besides offending her, it hurt her feelings. And scared her more than she wanted to admit. It was that nightmare. She couldn’t shake the foreboding feeling it left.
“I know nothing of what you speak,” she said, stamping her foot. “I must ask you not to approach me again. I—I’ll speak to Sir Walter if you do.”
She walked as fast as she could to the safety of the covered laundry area. Catherine sat on a bench folding bed linens. It was clear from her expression she’d seen the whole encounter. Marjorie prayed she wouldn’t bring it up.
“It looks as if you have an admirer,” Catherine said.
On top of being accused of having a curse, now her prayers weren’t being answered. She looked sadly to the heavens, unable to help feeling a bit paranoid. “He’s not an admirer, he’s a madman. Don’t you recall what I told you yesterday?”
“He seemed to keep a respectful enough distance today,” she said. “Don’t you ever think about having a better life, where you don’t have to work so hard? It’s not as if you’re of low birth. Your mother was related to Sir Walter somehow, wasn’t she? A good marriage could take you away from here.”
The mention of being taken from the castle called up her nightmare with a force that made her sit down hard. It took a few deep breaths to be able to dispel those terrible feelings.
“There’s nothing wrong with my life here. I never want to leave. Especially not with the likes of that man. Please, let’s not speak of it any longer, it makes me feel quite ill.”
Catherine patted her shoulder and began talking about some new accomplishment one of the knights had achieved with his longbow. Marjorie angrily scrubbed at a stain on a tunic, watching Lord Jordan. He still hovered at the other side of the courtyard, trying to be subtle but still clearly watching her. She refused to move and let him know she had any awareness of him.
Please, she silently begged. Make him go away.
To her astonishment and relief, this prayer was answered. Sir Leo hurried out to the courtyard, grabbed the wayward ex-chancellor by the neck and dragged him away.