Journey in Time (Knights in Time) by Chris Karlsen Page B

the side, the room had no furniture.
    Alex ordered drink sent to "his chamber” from the servant woman, who bobbed her head once and left.
    Interesting reference, his chamber , if this was a movie set, wouldn’t he say his dressing room? Things were getting weirder and weirder.
    “Alex--” Shakira said.
    “We’ll talk upstairs.”   
    They climbed a torch-lit spiral staircase with arrow loop windows inset into the exterior wall every tenth step. Shakira peeked out of one. She was impressed. The strategic placement gave archers a view of the bailey with no blind spots. A clever design feature, were this an authentic Norman castle.
    The design of the staircase was a different matter. It troubled her that the steps were true stone and had wear depressions. Why bother with such realism? Why not build stairs from cement or plywood painted to look like stone with no indents?
    They passed a couple of closed doors on the interior side of the corridor. No sound came from behind them and she wondered if they lead to actual rooms.
    As the staircase continued to bend clockwise, following the curve of the Keep, arrow windows no longer lined the wall. The stairs intersected with a broad corridor and another floor which in olden times was the family living quarters.
    Alex stopped at the center and pushed on a wooden door with black iron hinges. "My chamber," he said.
    Shakira stepped inside and turned. Irritated and fed-up, she wanted immediate answers. “Alex--”
    He dropped a heavy wooden bar into metal brackets attached to the door frame. “Give me a minute,” he said, cutting her off.
    He crossed the room to a mahogany chest. The chest was the same size as the steamer trunk at his cottage but more ornate, with a hunt scene carved into the lid. He dug through the contents and pulled out a long-sleeved shirt, a tunic, hose, and knee-high, soft leather boots. It took him less than two minutes to strip down to his low cut briefs and change. Everything else aside, Shakira admired his ability to dress so fast.
    She eyeballed the room while he changed. The rustic chamber was similar in ways to his cottage bedroom. The bed here had a dark green down comforter and dark blue velvet draperies hung from a rail on the frame to enclose it. The colors matched those in his home counterpane. This room had a larger simple pine table and chairs. Other than a bench and stanchions in each corner with tiered rows of candles, the chamber was on the plain side, like the cottage. She’d ask Alex about the similarities between the two places if she wasn’t so peeved with him.
    The servant knocked. He tossed his riding clothes and their watches into the trunk, closed the lid, and then opened the door.
    The maid set a silver ewer of wine, two goblets, and a plate of food on the table. He thanked her and barred the door again after she left.
    Shakira threw her riding gloves onto the table and folded her arms over her chest. "What the hell’s going on?"
    “Please, sit with me.”
    “I can stand and listen.” She ignored his extended hand.
    “Some news is best heard seated.”
    Not what she wanted to hear, especially since he hadn’t lost the green-around-the-gills look. She thought about her options, stay and listen, or go. She deserved an explanation. He deserved a chance to be heard. She hesitated a moment longer, then put her hand in his, and he led her to the bed.
    "Where shall I begin?"
    In her experience, that opening is often followed by something you definitely don’t want to hear.
    She waited.
    Tiny tension lines fanned over the bridge of his nose and at the corners of his eyes. The silence stretched. Finally he said, "The explanation is extraordinary and impossible to believe—”
“I knew it.”
“What?”
“Impossible is a euphemism for I’m going to hate it.”
“Please, just hear me out before you pass judgment.”
Curiosity overrode wariness. "All right."
    "I was born in 1330."
    Her brows lifted high. "Pardon?"
    His hand shot