Her Knight at the Museum

Chapter Thirteen

Thirteen

As he rode in the car, Griffin admired Emily’s profile. She wore a blue cap with a partial brim, only over her face, and she’d pulled her dark brown hair back in a band, exposing the curve of her neck and the delicate shell of her ear. A gold and sapphire earring sparkled in the lobe.

“Are you staring at me?” she teased.

“Heaven forfend, my lady,” he said lightly, but averted his gaze to look out his own window. They passed shops with signs, some with words he didn’t know: Zen Leaf , Donuts , Pizza , Walgreens , Thai . And what was a Shake Shack? A brothel, most assuredly, like London’s infamous Rocking Horse Inn.

“When was this city built?” he asked. Recalling how new the whole present country was, he added, “Perhaps two hundred years ago?”

“That’s a good guess. Probably not quite that old, though. These tall buildings are a lot newer, of course. The name Chicago comes from a Native American word for wild leeks that grew here.”

“Do they still? They make a fine winter soup.” His mouth watered suddenly at the thought of it: leeks simmered with salted ham, onions, and dried mushrooms, in a broth made golden by saffron.

“I doubt it. But we can get them at the market, any time of year.”

As he pondered how that might be possible, they reached streets filled with more cars. A man in a bright yellow-green jacket held up a hand, signaling her to stop, and a throng of people crossed the street.

“Such crowds,” he murmured to Emily.

“It’s like this on every game day. On the weekends, anyway.”

She parked in a small lot on a narrow street. “The stadium’s about four blocks from here,” she told him as they walked to the corner—under the tracks of the “L,” but Griffin had made his peace with that now. Sturdy girders supported the cars, and it had been decades, Emily had explained, since any of them had fallen on anyone’s head.

They turned onto a larger street lined with festive pubs, many with terraces where friends ate, drank, and made merry. Many wore bright blue shirts, and even more wore blue caps like the one that looked so jaunty on his lady. Emily was about to step into a puddle, and Griffin swiftly took her hand to pull her around it.

She made a sound that was something like Ope . “Thank you,” she added.

He kept her hand in his, since she showed no objection to it. “Why do so many wear blue?”

She stopped to face him. “Our team is the Chicago Cubs, and we’re all wearing blue to show that we want them to win. There are two teams, and men take turns trying to hit a ball with a bat—like a club?”

He nodded. “Yea, I know what a bat is. The peasants—I mean, those fine persons who were not noble—carried them to fight off thieves.”

She grinned at the way he corrected himself. “Okay, well, one team tries to hit a ball with a bat, and the other team tries to catch the ball after they hit it, and the one who hit the ball runs to a…a plate?” She gestured with her hands as she talked. “Oh, but the men want to catch the ball before it bounces. But if it does bounce first, they throw it to the man who’s already standing on the plate.”

Griffin’s confusion must have shown on his face, because she laughed and started walking again. He matched her pace. “After you watch for a while, you’ll understand.”

He nodded. “Will any take offense that I am not wearing blue?”

“No, no one will mind,” she reassured him.

“I only ask because in my time, such matters were oft of grave consequence. I knew a baroness who fell deeply out of favor with Queen Catherine for wearing black to her coronation.”

Her head whipped around to look at him. “Queen Catherine who?”

“Catherine of the house of Valois, King Henry’s bride.”

“Wow. Did you go? Where was it?”

“Westminster Abbey, my lady, and aye, I did.”

Her eyes were wide. “What did you wear?”

He smiled at her curiosity. “I wore a tunic of green brocade from Burgundy, patterned with golden leaves.”

Emily gave a low whistle. “You must’ve looked amazing.”

Griffin felt a pang of wistfulness. The beautiful Catherine had been carried on a gilded litter through the crowded streets, which had been draped in cloths of gold. He would never again dress that way or attend an event of such grandeur.

“Of course, you always look amazing,” Emily added, and his regrets melted away like the last bit of ice in a springtime stream. “I would love to tour Westminster Abbey someday.”

“As would I, sweet bird, for when I was there, the towers were not yet complete.”

Emily screwed up her face. “If I’m remembering right, they didn’t finish the towers until about three hundred years after your era.”

“Truly? The builders must’ve been extraordinarily idle.”

She laughed. “I’ll show you a picture on my phone when we sit down. Did they have a romantic wedding? Were they in love?”

The question hummed between them. Her hand was still in his, and Griffin stroked his thumb along her fingers, which fluttered in response.

“That I cannot say, for they wed at Troyes to seal the peace there,” he said honestly. “But I have no doubt that King Henry was dazzled by his bride on that day. She was such a beautiful young queen.”

Emily’s lips tightened in sudden displeasure.

Jealousy was a sin, he’d often heard, and he knew better than anyone that it was dangerous besides. He wouldn’t have tried to make her feel that way for the wide world. Yet it spurred another familiar, sinful emotion—pride—which he supposed he could enjoy in a very small dose.

Griffin added, “Although Catherine was fair, her beauty would dim next to yours. One may think the full moon is bright if one has never seen the noonday sun.” He gazed over at her. “And if you were a bride, in a gown of silk, a coronet set upon your hair…I would think Guinevere had stepped out of legends and into real life.”

She ducked her head and covered her mouth with her hand. When she took it away again, her cheeks were flushed pink. “If Henry flattered Catherine half as much as you flatter me, she was a lucky woman.”

It had not been flattery, but simple truth. He would’ve said so, but his words had already made her bashful. A woman with a stroller passed them, and he took the opportunity to change the subject. “Even the babes wear blue caps.”

She gave him a thoughtful look. “Do you want one? A cap, I mean.”

“In truth, my lady, I would love one.” He was a fool, maybe, but after all the grim and brutal trials he’d been through, his heart still lifted as though he were a child at the May fair, getting a wooden sword or a clay horse to take home.

“Okay, let’s do it,” she said, and beckoned him into the open doors of a nearby shop called Sports World.

It must’ve been where everyone purchased their hats and caps, for there were a hundred or more different kinds of each, as well as stockings, toys, pennants, and other items whose uses were a mystery to him. It took him more time, maybe, than it should have, to decide upon a hat with the head of a bear cub upon it. After she paid for it and removed the tags and they stepped out onto the street again, she gave it to him to try on.

“What do you think, my lady?”

She clapped her hands. “You look so good! My big Cubs fan!” Her upturned face seemed to be almost begging for a kiss. He doubted she would object, but he’d told himself that he’d wait for her to kiss him first. He was doubting that plan now. How much longer would that be?

As they walked on, the scent of grilled meats wafted through the breeze, giving him an idea. “Are there any deer in Chicago?” He was a fine hunter. With a bow and arrows, he could at least keep her supplied in venison while he sought a steady occupation. He could set traps for rabbits, too.

She looked over at him, surprised. “Not many in the city, I don’t think. But there are tons of them in the suburbs, where my parents live.”

This city, with the wide expanses of rock-hard streets and walkways and towering buildings, sometimes awed him and sometimes disturbed him. “Do you ever wish there were more woods and meadows?”

“There are some beautiful parks. But sometimes I wish I had a garden like my parents, so I could grow flowers and tomatoes and things.”

“Why then do you live in the city?” She’d explained to him before that many people lived far out in the country and took the train or drove into the city for work.

She shrugged. “When I was a kid in the suburbs, I always imagined living in the city. I guess I thought it would be, I don’t know, exciting and romantic. And hey, I was right.” She gave a tentative smile, and his heart beat harder. “But it would be nice to be able to pop in and see my parents whenever. And like you say, to have more nature around. Plus it’s cheaper. I could rent a bigger place…maybe even one with a fenced yard for Andy.”

At the end of the street, a crossroads teemed with crowds, and a round amphitheater rose above them. A red sign declared it WRIGLEY FIELD—HOME OF THE CHICAGO CUBS . Griffin stopped in his tracks to stare up at it.

“?’Tis enormous,” he wondered aloud, and then laughed. “Ever am I feeling like a peasant from the country visiting London for the first time, for I am always amazed.”

“It is huge.” They got into a line of people waiting to enter, and when they reached the woman at the gate, Emily produced her phone, that device that accomplished all things.

Once inside, Emily reached out to hold his hand again. “Welcome to the Friendly Confines.”

When she led him to their seats, he had to bite his tongue to keep from commenting on the crowds. There were nearly as many people, he would’ve guessed, as in the whole of London—or at least, London in his time.

Ivy-covered walls surrounded a great green grassy field, a welcome sight. All around him, people were in high spirits. Two men laughed about their wagers. A child stood in her seat and danced to loud music that seemed to emit from the sky. He’d always loved merry crowds such as this, at tournaments and fairs.

“How often do they have these games?” he asked as they sat down.

“Uh, I’m not sure. Hang on.” She pulled out her phone and typed into it. “One hundred and sixty-two a year. Only half of them are here. For the other half, they travel to other cities.”

He couldn’t help but shake his head in wonder. This huge gathering was a regular occurrence.

“Okay, this guy’s my favorite! And he’s up first to bat.”

The man at bat did not even attempt to hit the ball on the first few times it came his way. Curiously, Emily clapped the first time he ignored it, as though he’d done something praiseworthy, but remained silent the second two times. Then he hit the ball with a mighty crack and the bat split into two as he released it and sprinted for one of the plates. Griffin cheered. But a man in the field grabbed the ball and threw it to the man who stood on the plate, and the batter trotted away with stoic rejection. Emily clicked her tongue with disappointment.

He said, “It surprises me that you are fond of such sport, for I had thought all your love was for art and books.”

“You thought I was too much of a nerd?”

Griffin smiled, for it was clearly a jest.

“Well, that’s understandable. But my parents are huge Cubs fans. Especially my dad. When they won the World Series, my dad was sobbing. It was the only time I ever saw him cry, except when my grandma died.”

Griffin took her hand. “Tell me more of your parents, if you like.” He had not given her family or her childhood much thought, which struck him now as a strange oversight. She was not Venus, emerged from a shell.

Her father was a chemist, she said. Her mother taught classes about politics and the government at a place called Harper College. Sometimes in high school, Emily had done her homework at the coffeehouse there while her mother taught. Emily had been good friends with a couple of girls but hadn’t been particularly popular or sought after by the boys; she’d been shy, her skin prone to something called breakouts, and she’d been engrossed in her studies.

Griffin asked her a couple of questions, but for the most part, he remained silent, listening intently. After a while, cheers distracted them and they looked down to see the ball sailing into the stands.

“Home run!” Emily exclaimed, jumping to her feet. Griffin stood, too, applauding, as the Cubs player rounded the bases. “Look, there’s the replay.” Emily pointed. On the big screen, they saw the man hit it. She yelled, “Wooo!”

Griffin joined her. “Huzzah!” She darted an amused glance at him. No one else had said huzzah , he realized. Still clapping, he imitated her instead. “Wooo!”

“That was so great!” she said as they sat down. “I almost made you miss it because I was talking.”

“Even the pleasure of the sport does not match the pleasure of hearing your voice.”

She smiled and ducked her head. “Are you ever going to stop saying things like that?”

Things like how sweet she was, and how alluring? “I have not the slightest intention of stopping, my cinnamon, unless it causes you displeasure.”

“Well, it definitely doesn’t,” she murmured. “And you know, I think I said this before, but you’re a really good listener.”

He laughed. “In truth, I was not known as such in my own time.” Then he sobered. “When I was stone, it was a blessing to hear someone talk. It entertained me and gave me new things to ponder. And meseems I grew accustomed to not interrupting.”

“I hope I’m a good listener for you, too.” She gave him one of her quick hugs. “What was your childhood like? Your family? I only know a little about your dad, and I think you had a sister, Alyse, right?” He nodded, his heart twisting with regret. “Were you the only two children?”

“Aye. Through no fault of my mother’s,” he added quickly. “When she was with child, she ate no juniper berries in her meat pies and stayed abed much of the time. But there were two miscarriages, one stillbirth, and one babe who did not live the day.”

“Oh, wow,” Emily said, her voice filled with sympathy. “People still have miscarriages all the time, but I know fewer babies survived in your time.”

Griffin nodded, frowning. “The girl child who lived just one day…I was seven years old and loved her at first sight, and though they told me she’d gone to live with Christ in heaven, it broke my heart.”

“I’m so sorry.” Emily squeezed his hand. “You must’ve been such a sweet little boy.”

That dragged a smile out of him. “I was a hellion much of the time.”

“An adorable hellion, I bet. What was your mother like?”

“She died in the birthing of my sister, the one who lived. When I was ten.” Emily’s eyes grew watery. It both distressed and comforted him. “But I remember everything about my mother. She was plump and fair of hair and indulged us much with stories. Betimes she was too melancholic…” He paused. He was trying to unlearn his older way of speaking, as much as he could, but it was hard, and even more so now that he spoke of family. “Sometimes she was sad and would shut herself up in her chamber, and my father grew impatient of those spells.”

“Who could blame her?” Emily said indignantly. “She went through a lot.”

“Aye…but as a boy, I would fear I was a cause of her sorrow.”

“Oh no.” Emily squeezed his hand again. “She must’ve adored you. Of course that wasn’t true.”

“It wasn’t,” he agreed. He’d figured that out for himself, after many years of mulling it over. “It was her nature. And other times, she was filled with joy, and you wanted to be close to her, the way you want to revel in the rays of the sun.”

“You get that from her. That joy. And that charisma.” He didn’t recognize the last word, but affection shone in her eyes.

“You found a record of my sister inheriting the estate,” he said. He’d been meaning to ask her about this. “Do you know anything else about her? If she wed, or bore children, or lived a long life?”

Emily shook her head, the corner of her mouth turned down in sympathy. “I can try to look some more. What was she like?”

His throat tightened. For centuries, he’d tried to push his grief about her out of his mind, and for the most part, he’d succeeded. He’d had to. Trapped in stone, with no present comfort, the grief would’ve destroyed him. Always when he’d been under the curse, he’d felt the constant threat of turning into something not human, some kind of evil spirit.

Now, it was safe to think of them. But it hurt.

“Alyse was much taken with Mordrain, the man who had me cursed.” Emily’s eyes went wide. “My father opposed the match, for Mordrain was from a new house, less grand in honor. Mordrain had been my friend since we were boys, and I oft thought of speaking up for their union.”

Despite the bright sunshine and the colorful crowd surrounding them, dread chilled him. Emily would learn more about his shortcomings now. But she deserved to know.

“When I was trapped in stone, I would imagine—for days on end, meseems—of giving the most noble speeches to my father about love.” He gave a short, humorless laugh. “But I did no such thing when I had the chance. If I quarreled with my father, he was cold with me for days…and I half thought that, because of the greater dignity of our house, he might be right.”

“We don’t think as much about the dignity of houses now,” Emily said gently. “But most people thought that way in your time, right? And I can understand why you wouldn’t want to fight with your father, especially when you already lost your mother.”

“You are right, my lady.” He hadn’t considered this before.

“He never should’ve gotten that angry with you,” Emily said. “Parents are supposed to make their children feel they’re loved no matter what.”

“Truly? I have never heard that said.” He very much liked the idea of it, though. If he and Emily were ever blessed with children, he would think on that.

She shook her head. “You need to stop feeling guilty.”

Perhaps she was right. Still, having carried it with him for so long, he was reluctant to let go of it.

“The last time I spoke with Alyse, she was angry with me for fighting Mordrain in the tournament.”

“Alyse was the lady you mentioned before,” Emily realized aloud. “The lady Mordrain loved, who saw him lose.”

“Aye,” Griffin said heavily. “I was not ready to speak of her.” Emily squeezed his hand, sympathy glistening in her eyes.

He explained, “After that tournament, Mordrain had told her he could no longer love her, when she had a foul brother like me.” It pained him to talk about all this, but it was a relief, too, like an infected wound lanced and cleansed. “I wish I’d gotten to say goodbye to her.”

She wrapped her other hand around their joined ones. “She wished that, too, I’m sure.”

He’d always imagined Alyse being angry with him for disappearing. But maybe Emily was right.

“All families fight,” she said. “And with your father against the match, it sounds like Mordrain might’ve just been giving up on your sister, anyway.”

In all Griffin’s musings, he’d never thought of that.

“I’m sure Alyse loved you very much,” she went on to say. It was true. She had. “And you saved her. Can you imagine what might’ve happened if she’d married Mordrain? All husbands and wives fight, and he was straight-up evil . Who knows what kinds of curses he might’ve used on her?”

He’d never thought of that, either. And what she said might have very likely come to pass.

The tension in the back of his shoulders loosened. Maybe there had been a glimmer of good in the most contemptible evil of the curse. But of course, Emily herself was another glimmer of good.

“You ease my heart greatly,” he said. “Thank you.” His chest still ached, but it was a clean ache now, free from self-loathing and regret…and tinged with hope.

Maybe he would meet Alyse again in Heaven. No, he certainly would. There was no question that she would be there, and no loving God would exact an eternal punishment upon him for his petty sins after all he’d been through already. He felt sure of that, as sure as the afternoon sunshine warming his skin.

He looked around them, his heart lighter. “A day like this…I cannot tell you what a joy it is.”

She smiled. “What do you like about it?”

“The blue sky above, the breeze, a new sport, a crowd of people in high spirits. The scents of ale and delicious food, and the cries of the sellers. The field and the green growing ivy on the walls, the songs of birds and their quick flights, searching for crumbs—” She laughed, and he broke off. “What is it, my lady?”

Her face radiated happiness. “You notice all the good things. And I take so many of them for granted, just like everybody does—oh!” she squealed and pointed.

He looked that way and saw both of their faces, enormous, on the big screen. God’s bones! Why…?

Emily grabbed his face and leaned in.

She wanted a kiss!

Griffin lowered his head and pressed his mouth to hers, wrapping his arms around her, stroking her back as he drank in her sweetness. Vaguely, he was aware of cheering around them. He deepened the kiss, though it couldn’t match the depth of his passion for her. A kiss would never be enough, but it was so good…

Someone behind them called out, “Woooo, yeah!” She pulled back and broke off the kiss, staring at him with a dazed look in her eyes. Then she gave a shaky laugh.

“That was a little much for the Kiss Cam.”

“The what?” he asked stupidly.

She pointed again at the big screen across the field. It showed an elderly man leaning in to give his wife a sweet kiss. A scattering of awwws rippled across the crowd.

“Everyone was watching us kiss,” he realized aloud. “This whole crowd.” But of course they had been. He’d seen their faces on the screen. When Emily had grabbed his face, all other thoughts had gone out of his head.

She laughed. “That’s right. You’re famous! Oh, he’s up again.” She pointed at the field, where the man who’d broken his bat before approached the plate again.

This time, after letting one pitch by him, he sent the ball sailing through the air and watched its trajectory even as he dropped the bat and started to run. It went beyond the field and into the far stands.

Emily jumped to her feet, cheering, and so did everyone around her. Griffin stood up and cheered, too, as the man ran around the bases, the joy of victory evident in his every movement. He threw down his helmet as he reached home plate, punctuating his triumph, and one teammate grabbed his hand and slapped him on the back, and then another. Griffin’s spirits rose to see it.

“Yes!” he roared out over the stands, still clapping, loud enough that the people around him, whose cheers were subsiding, turned to him with approving grins.

As they sat down again, Emily said, “You liked that!”

“Aye, my lady, I did. It reminds me of the grand melee at a tournament, when one’s side has triumphed on the field.”

She sucked in a breath. “That’s it. Why didn’t I think of this before?”

He blinked. “What is it?”

“I’m so stupid! It’s right by my parents’ house!”

“You are most assuredly not stupid, my sweet. But what—”

“Okay, in my defense, I only went there twice as a kid. I haven’t been there in years .”

Griffin bit back exasperation. “My lady, if you would be so good as to—”

“Medieval Legends!”

“What?”

“It’s this place, this big place, where people go have dinner and watch tournaments! Men dress up as knights…They’re actually very good, they’re on horseback, and the horses are amazing…and they fight with swords!”

God in heaven. Such a tournament existed, even now? An eager thrill coursed through him.

“Tell me more,” he said.

“No one really gets hurt. Or at least, not seriously.”

“Sparring,” he said. Even better. He’d had enough of glory bought with blood.

“They make it look real. I think it takes a lot of training. But you’re already an expert sword fighter! You may know more about it than anyone alive!”

True enough, but never in these modern times had it seemed like a benefit. “You think I should join this company of knights?”

She nodded. “And hundreds of people go. They have shows a few times every week.”

Griffin’s hopes soared. “Where are these tournaments?” Surely, these knights were held in great esteem.

“They’re close to where my parents live. It’s too far from my apartment to drive you every day, but maybe you could take the train and a bus…” She frowned. “Actually, that might take hours.”

He shrugged. “I have nothing else to do. Your ways of travel are so easy and smooth, and you have so many books. I could read the whole time.” He’d already spent some hours looking at her books, and he’d found that as he persevered, he became more accustomed to the wording and the strange print. He wanted more time with them.

“Well, that’s true.” She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Whatever, we could figure it out. We’re getting that fake ID from Rose in a couple of days.” She’d explained this to him before; a false document of a false life, which rankled him, but it was necessary. “They have auditions. Tryouts.”

He nodded. “The sooner I may assay, the better. The world shall have service for my skills, and I shall pay you back all that I owe.”

The faint frown appeared at her brow again. “It may not pay a lot , okay?”

“No matter.” He knew he would never again have the income of an earl’s son, but that of a knight for hire would do very well. That paid enough to have a home, a fine horse, handsome clothes, and a cellar full of ale. Truly, what more could a man want?

“But if you’re going to live with me, it would still help a lot with rent,” she added.

Would it? His lady was not, praise God, in great need of money. The sapphire earrings she wore today were not her only jewels, and even more astoundingly, she had a closet filled with clothing and shoes, more than he’d ever seen in one place at once. It would’ve put even a queen’s wardrobe to shame. She’d asked him about selling his armor, but she could’ve as easily sold a dozen of her shirts and dresses for a handsome sum and still have more than enough to wear.

Still, he hoped that soon they would be a married man and wife. Of course they would face all the expenses and travails of the world together, and sample all its joys.

“Anyway, I can’t think of a better way for you to make friends,” she went on to say.

His spirits lifted even further at the thought. He would surely meet some fine comrades among this company of knights.

“Yea, I will pursue this course with a glad heart.”

Emily beamed at him and whipped out her phone from her pocket. “I’m going to find out when the next audition is.” Scarcely a minute passed before she said, “Okay, here it is!” It never ceased to amaze him how quickly she could do that.

“They’re coming right up! I think they’re going to love you—oh!” As cheers rose around them, her attention turned to the field. “That’s it! We won!”

She pulled him to his feet along with her. Music swelled and she swayed with the beat, clapping her hands. Along with the rest of the crowd, she burst into a song about the Cubs.

“We sing this every time we win,” she paused to shout to Griffin. “It’s my favorite thing!”

“So ’tis not so strange, after all, to sing,” he noted. He’d noted more resistance at first than he’d expected, at the house of the doctors.

She laughed. “I guess not!” It gladdened his heart so much that he might’ve been singing of his own future victories. Their two souls struck a chord of harmony, his baritone strength to her sweet soprano, and so it must always and ever be.