Her Knight at the Museum

Chapter Eight

Eight

Griffin turned on the shower and stepped into it, remembering to draw the curtain closed so water didn’t splash on the floor. As the hot water hit his bare skin, he groaned in pure pleasure. He picked up the soap, which produced an extraordinary amount of lather when he rubbed it in his hands, washed every part of him, then stood under the cascade for a long time, as though it could rinse away the loneliness and desperation of hundreds of years.

Finally, he turned the water off, got out, and dried himself with a towel before wrapping it around his waist. He walked out and found Emily standing in the kitchen, with Andy prancing at her feet. When she looked up at him, her eyes widened.

“Having washed, I did not wish to don unwashed clothes,” he explained.

“Right!” she said brightly. “Well, Rose should be here soon. She told them she was going home sick.” She turned her gaze away. “We should cover you up. You’re going to get too cold.”

“My lady, ’tis the merry month of May, and the sun—”

“This apartment is very drafty.”

She hurried down the hallway. The dog looked after her, then hopped onto the sofa, curling up into a cozy ball. Emily returned some moments later with a large blanket in her arms. “Here, we’ll just…”

She wrapped it firmly around his torso while trying not to get too close to him, holding her arms out at full length. The blanket was fuzzy and softer than wool, pleasant on his skin. When she flipped one end of the blanket over his shoulder, like a toga, a different feeling hit him square in the chest. It had something to do with being taken care of, after all his time of isolation and desperation.

Something chirped behind her.

“I made us lunch,” she said. She turned to open a little cupboard and took out a plate. The savory aroma filled Griffin’s senses. “It’s just leftovers. Chicken breasts stuffed with cheese and mushrooms.” She transferred it to two plates that already held vegetables. “If you don’t like it, I’ll figure out something else.”

“Of a surety, I will like it.” His stomach was grumbling. “Might I trouble you, too, for a draught of water?”

“Oh, of course.” She pulled a large glass from one cupboard and then opened another, which released a cold wave of air, and deposited what sounded like rocks into the cup. She then filled the glass with a spout like the one in the bathroom and handed it to him.

“Thank you, my lady.” The glass was exceedingly cold. Small blocks of ice floated on the surface of the water, as though in a thawing lake.

She smiled. “Has anyone ever told you that you have the best manners? Here, sit down.” She handed him the plate as well, and when she joined him at the table, she deposited a knife and fork next to his plate as well as her own.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Do you even know how to use these?”

An uncomfortable heat rose on the back of his neck. “I have seen others use them, and I believe I can.” He would do his best, anyway. She had just complimented his manners, and besides, he was a nobleman, of the house of Beauford. He could not disgrace himself at the table.

“I can help you if you need to.”

That pricked at his pride. “Nay, ’tis well enough,” he said vaguely.

Mimicking her actions, he stabbed the chicken breast with a fork, sliced off a piece with the knife, brought it to his mouth. The flavors of the chicken, with the cheese, mushrooms, and herbs, nearly made him fall out of his chair. It had never been like this before when he’d satiated his hunger. Back then, he’d been nearly sleepwalking through life, scarcely aware of his own senses and taking everything for granted. He let out an appreciative growl.

“You like it,” she said, pleased.

“Kings never dined so well.” He raised the cup to his lips and took a drink. The cold filled his mouth and he swallowed down gulp after gulp.

“Good. I thought about ordering something that Chicago’s famous for, like deep-dish pizza or hot dogs, but they might seem strange to you.”

“You take pride in your city,” Griffin noted. He should focus on civilized conversation, so as not to wolf down the first meal he’d eaten in centuries. “Were you born here, my lady?”

“I was. Well, the suburbs—one of the towns not too far from the city,” she explained. “My parents are still here. But then I moved to California—very far away. I got a job in Los Angeles I loved . The Getty Villa…It’s a beautiful huge house, like a castle, off the coast of Malibu, overlooking the ocean, and it has the most amazing collection.” She sighed. “But then I moved again because my ex-husband started a business.”

“This business was far away from the villa?” He was trying to follow.

“Exactly. I cried like a baby when we were packing up our stuff,” she said.

If he were to meet this Tom, would Emily’s new rule about not starting fights still apply? Would it not be right and fitting to give the man a sound beating? Most likely he would never cross paths with the vile worm, and maybe that was for the best.

Still, his heart ached for Emily’s sorrow. She had been punished for being a devoted wife. Wordlessly, he set down his fork and took her hand. She gave it a squeeze.

“In my heart, I knew it was a terrible idea,” she confessed. “When I married him and moved to San Jose, I basically ruined my own life.”

“I am so sorry, my lady.”

She gave a rueful smile. “I think I’ve been pretty lonely. I’m not close to the friends I had growing up here, which is totally my fault. And I feel like a failure, slinking back to Chicago.”

“Meseems the failure is only on his side. ’Tis good your family is near. And Rose, I think, is a good friend to you.”

He could not yet say that his own company was a boon, as needful as he was of many things. Before he asked her to be his wife, he would find some way to provide for her every comfort. Perhaps there was less use these days for an excellent horseman, but he was intelligent and uncommonly strong besides. How difficult could it be?

“I like Rose a lot,” Emily said. “I’ve only known her a couple of months, but she’s easy to get to know. She has no filter.” Immediately, she added, “Which means she says whatever she’s thinking.”

Andy sounded a throaty howl and someone knocked.

Emily hopped up. “That’s probably her.” Griffin got to his feet and followed her to the door. She opened the door to Rose, who carried a large brown bag in her arms. “Hey! Come on in.”

“Thanks!” Rose said as she stepped inside. “So I brought—”

Then she laid eyes on Griffin. She squeaked, dropped the bag, and covered her mouth with her hand, staring at him—oblivious to Andy, who propped his front paws on her leg hoping for a cuddle.

Griffin inclined his head. “Demoiselle, I am Griffin de Beauford, at your service.”

She wrapped her arms around Griffin in a tight hug. “Welcome to the twenty-first century! It’s kind of a shitshow. But sometimes it’s amazing.” She drew back. “You doing okay so far?”

Griffin caught a tight expression on Emily’s features. Jealousy . Warmth spread in his chest.

Smiling at Rose, he said, “I would be lost, like a sailor in a vast sea, were it not for my lady Emily, a bright star to guide my way.”

Rose turned to Emily. “Oh my Goddess.” Emily’s cheeks had again turned pink as an apothecary’s rose. She gestured for Rose to sit and did the same.

“Thank you so much for coming,” Emily said. “I know it’s kind of far from your place.”

“Thanks for letting me! It’s not that far.” She added to Griffin, “You guys will have to come to Pilsen sometime.”

Emily nodded. “I love the Mexican museum there.”

“Aye, my lady, thank you,” Griffin said to Rose, his spirits soaring. He’d only come to life that day, and already, he was getting friendly invitations! “In what direction is Pilsen from Chicago?”

“Oh, it’s part of Chicago,” Rose said, and then shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m talking to you! Best fake sick day ever.”

Emily frowned. “I told Jason it was a family emergency. Do you think I’m going to get fired?”

“Of course not!”

“But Terrence saw me leave with Griffin when he was in his armor. I told him that he was a Renaissance Faire actor.”

“ Ohh . That’s awkward,” Rose acknowledged. “If Jason asks later, say Griffin’s your cousin.”

That could be an inconvenient lie, Griffin thought. In his time, at least, the Church had forbade the marrying of cousins.

“A cousin once removed,” he suggested.

“Yeah, I guess,” Emily said doubtfully. “But what am I going to tell them about the missing statue?”

“Oh shit .” Rose covered her mouth with her hand. “They’re going to think they have an art theft on their hands. Like, a major art theft.”

“Exactly.” His lady looked paler than usual. “Jason’s going to be freaking out . What if he thinks I’m part of it?”

Griffin’s heart dropped. In all the wonder of being alive, he hadn’t considered what trouble it might cause her.

“You must tell Jason the truth,” he told Emily. “I will come with you and explain it all.”

“No!” both ladies said together. Emily added, “If I say the sculpture turned into a person, I’m going to look more suspicious.”

Sorrow, more familiar to Griffin than the sound of his own voice, filled his soul. “I must tell him it was I who stole it.”

Such a theft would be answered with more than a fine or a flogging. He’d lose an ear, or both, or a hand…or his life. He’d suffer any of these without hesitation to save Emily, who had already saved him from a far worse punishment. But God help him, he wanted desperately to live.

Rose peered at him. “How would you say you did it?”

“I would say I…” His mind went blank as a field covered with a fresh snow.

Emily said gently, “Besides, they’d ask you where it is now.”

“And it isn’t anywhere,” Rose said firmly. “So there’s literally no evidence pointing to anyone.”

This all made sense. Griffin’s fear, a dark tide, ebbed. “And indeed, how could my lady Emily have stolen it, in the sight of so many others and the light of day?”

“Right. That would be impossible,” Emily said, sounding as though she were trying to reassure herself. “I’m just going to say I don’t know where it went.”

Griffin nodded. “And as you said before, we will tell everyone that I am a man of this time.”

Rose snapped her fingers. “Speaking of that…” She pulled clothes out of the bag. “Here. I’ve got shoes in here, too, but try these on first.”

Griffin took the sturdy blue breeches and a soft shirt that bore the image of an eagle gripping a sword in its talons.

“Whose blazon is this?” It was not seemly to wear the emblem of another man.

Rose looked at him blankly.

“Coat of arms,” Emily told her. “What’s the design?”

“Ohhh,” Rose said. “It represents some musicians.”

“Anyone can wear it,” Emily reassured Griffin.

He shrugged and pulled the blanket off his shoulder. Emily darted forward.

“Oh! Why don’t you, um, go into the bedroom to change?”

“Very well, my lady.”

Griffin walked down the hallway, with its smooth white walls, to the room with the biggest bed he’d ever seen in his life. As he stripped, he wondered: had her husband pleased her in the bedchamber?

Jesus, that I might hold her naked in my arms. Though he would not get her with child before they were wed, he would fulfill her desires along with his own, as soon as she permitted it.

How long would that be?

He got dressed, then looked down at the odd ensemble. He was not a vain man, and yet…No, in truth, he was vain and had always been so, but as a drinking song of his time had once put it, beggars could not be choosers.

Could Emily respect a beggar, though, who wore another man’s strange castoffs? Would she not see him as a peasant, even if he wasn’t supposed to use the word? He had to, at least, stop gaping at everything like a country clodpole.

He plucked at the short sleeves of the shirt. There was nothing else for it; he had to wear something. He returned to the ladies, attempting to hold his head high.

When Emily’s gaze landed on him, her mouth parted. She said, a little breathlessly, “Wow, look at you, all modern.”

Perhaps it was not as bad as he’d thought.

Rose dug into her purse. “I want a picture.”

A little frown appeared between Emily’s brows. “Actually…can you get me with him first? With my phone?”

Rose brightened. “Sure.”

Emily handed it to her, explaining to Griffin, “It’ll make a picture of the two of us. Like a painting, but it won’t take any time.”

Rose said, “You’ve got like fifty un-listened-to voicemails on here.”

“I know. I get a ton of spam.” She moved closer to Griffin and told him, “Smile!”

Rose had commanded that before, but this time, he could obey. He did so gladly, putting his arm around her as she faced Rose.

“Beautiful,” Rose said as she handed Emily’s phone back to her.

“I am grateful for the clothes,” Griffin said, and then he couldn’t stop himself. “Though I fear they do not flatter me overmuch.”

“Oh, please,” Emily said. “You look better than anyone has ever looked in an old Slayer T-shirt. I’m going to have to fight women off with a stick.”

“You claim me, then, as your lover?” He couldn’t help it. Her words had him grinning. “And woe betide any demoiselle who disputes it?”

Emily took a deep breath. “Griffin, we need to talk.”

“Are we not talking, my lady, even now?” he asked lightly.

But Rose gave him a worried look, as though Emily had made a serious pronouncement. “I should go.”

“Lunch tomorrow?” Emily asked her. “I’ll come by your office.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

When Rose left, Emily sat down on the sofa. “Griffin, come sit.”

“As you wish, my lady.” He sat close to her, the better to listen, his thigh touching hers.

“You know I like you a lot, right?”

He laughed. “Aye, ’tis clear as day.”

“I guess it’s not arrogant if it’s true,” she said, her voice wry. “But I’m not your, um, lover. You and I are just friends.”

Griffin tilted his head. He’d deemed her honest, yet this was plainly false.

“Do all friends now kiss one another as you have kissed me?” He lowered his voice, though there were none to hear. “Do you let your friends strip you bare and kiss your sweet—”

“That was a dream!”

His body had roused at the memory. “Aye, it was. Although our last kiss was not.”

She hesitated, biting her lip. He considered his next words carefully.

“I thought your fondness for me overflowed the banks of friendship. Did I misjudge so greatly?”

“No,” she admitted. Happiness flooded back into his soul at that one simple word. “You’re kind, and I love talking to you, and you make me feel…” She trailed off, shaking her head.

“Then why should we not enjoy ourselves as lovers do?” A horrible thought occurred to him. “Did you send that letter asking for other suitors?”

She screwed up her face. “What?”

He hated his confusion. “You answered someone’s questions about what kind of husband you would prefer…”

“ Oh. The dating app. No, I’m not going to do that…for now, at least.”

Griffin exhaled in relief. Surely, this meant his courting would not be in vain.

He said, “Think then, sweet lady, on how I have been imprisoned. Hundreds of years in the form of stone. So many days yearning for a woman’s touch!”

She stiffened like a cat that didn’t want to be stroked. “So you think I owe you?”

“No, I…” God’s teeth . He hadn’t meant that. A man’s desperation did not mean a lady’s obligation. He’d explained this very thing to a young soldier once.

But that young soldier had been without an amorous touch for weeks, not centuries.

“Here’s the thing,” she said. “You’re super horny, and I get that. If I didn’t already know you were such a gentleman, I’d be nervous about having you here.”

The meaning of the word horny was clear enough. He could well imagine his lust as a horned, heavy-balled bull, snorting and snuffing after a cow in the first blush of spring.

“I’m very glad you trust me, my lady, and well you may,” he said slowly. “But I am not merely—horny. You cannot but know my heart’s true devotion.”

Her face softened. “Griffin, you think you really like me, but I’m practically the only person you know! You’re going to meet all kinds of other people, and once you do…you’ll probably feel differently.”

“The merry maiden on the train did not tempt me, and I daresay she would tempt many a man. And Lady Rose is lovely, wise, and kind, yet my regard for her is as for a sister.”

“That’s only two women. And you just came alive today .”

He took her hand, and when she did not pull away, he lowered his head to kiss it. “Do you not believe in fate?”

Her breath caught. “What do you mean?”

He stroked his thumb alongside hers. “Is it not strange that I should come so far to you, from another place and another time, and that our two souls should be in such sympathy?”

She looked down at their joined hands. “I used to believe in fate. I met my ex-husband on the night of a meteor shower. How romantic is that?” Griffin must’ve had a bewildered expression on his face, because she explained, “A meteor shower is when it looks like there are a lot of falling stars. There’s a big one every August.”

“Ah. I know of what you speak, but how could it turn one’s thoughts to romance?” It was her turn to look confused. “Those represent the tears of St. Lawrence, who was roasted to death over hot coals.” In his time, they had celebrated his feast day with solemn songs—and, more pleasantly, with partridges and pheasants cooked on spits. “The falling stars are a reminder that we, too, can expect to suffer.”

Her brow creased and she muttered, “Well, that explains a lot.” She met his eyes again. “The point is, I was so sure it was meant to be, and then it didn’t work. No matter how hard I tried.”

The sadness in her voice tugged at Griffin’s heart. What kind of man could have found such a sweet lady wanting? Maybe this Tom had been fate’s fool, destined to spurn her so that Griffin might win her, now that the wheel of fortune had finally spun to his favor.

“Look, first things first,” she said. “You’ve got to learn all about this world. It’s going to take some time.”

Griffin nodded. “And whilst I do so, you may learn of me, and judge if I am constant and true.”

Emily closed her eyes and shook her head. “No, you need to stop talking like that.”

“Talking in what way, my dove?”

She squirmed. “You know…”

“Pray tell me,” he insisted, with mock innocence. “For lo these many centuries have I wondered why ladies once called me Griffin Silvertongue.”

She gave an incredulous laugh. “You’re making that up!”

“You impugn my honor,” he teased. In truth, it had been only one lady on a certain Twelfth Night, and he’d known exactly what she was talking about. “Moreover, you insult my skill.”

“I do not —you’re impossible,” she declared, disentangling from him and standing up. He reminded her of a lady pushing away a plate of sweets.

Gazing up at her, he said, “I will not ask to share your bedchamber, but I pray that with time, I will be welcomed there.”

For all Griffin’s foolish mistakes, he’d never been a fool when it came to understanding ladies. It was desire that quickened her breath and put that spark in her eyes.

He was sure of it. And it gave him more than enough reason to hope.