Her Knight at the Museum

Chapter Fifteen

Fifteen

When Griffin stepped out of the department store along with the two ladies, Emily turned to him and said, “What would you like to do now?”

What were his choices? He sneaked another glance at her breasts. She was wearing a top that stretched over them in a most beguiling way, and he’d figured out now that she wore one of those padded undergarments, like the one Andy had dashed through the apartment with, that made them stand up proudly. She hadn’t been wearing it that morning, and her breasts had been slight, soft curves beneath the soft shirt she’d slept in. Christ Jesus, he loved the way they looked, either way.

Rose caught him looking, and the corner of her mouth quirked upward. “Actually, I need to head back. But you two have a good time.”

Emily hugged her, and then Rose embraced Griffin, too, saying, “Good to see you, big guy.” It was apparently common to do so, with meetings and partings, and it pleased him. He was hungry for the touch of friends. He was going to make more of them. Emily wanted to make more friends, too, in this city; maybe they could do it together.

As Rose was walking away, Griffin asked Emily, “Would you like to go on a walk, my lady?” He could’ve gladly wandered for hours, observing the people and the buildings that seemed to have been built by those who, like the builders of the Tower of Babel, hoped to reach up to heaven itself, and as far as Griffin could tell, had come very close.

“That’s a great idea! It’s such a beautiful day.”

“It will rain,” he felt obliged to say, “but I do not mind, if you do not.”

She scrunched up her face. “It’s supposed to be sunny today.”

“But the air feels lighter, and look, the birds are taking shelter.” He pointed to the sparrows chirping in the nearby tree.

“Hmm, we’ll see,” she said doubtfully. “Anyway, I’d love to take you to the Riverwalk.”

“Very well,” Griffin said, for courtesy’s sake, though he could not imagine it would be pleasant to walk along the banks of a river in the city. Maybe the citizens of Chicago were inured to the stench. At least it wasn’t a hot day.

As they passed down city streets, Emily told him about other places in Chicago he needed to see, including Lincoln Park, the University of Chicago, a boat ride where they talked about the architecture, and several other vast museums.

She went on to say, “And then there’s the Shedd…They have these huge glass tanks full of water, where you can see fish, and octopi, and pretty much everything that lives in the ocean. Plus sea lions. Do you know what those are?”

He nodded. “They have the tail of a fish and the head of a lion.” He’d seen one on the shield of a knight from Spain.

“Um, no…Do you know what seals are? Not the wax things, but the animal?”

“Yea, and in Orkney, they sometimes turn into women.” She gave him a skeptical look, and he assured her, “I heard all about it from a wise sea captain. This museum is called the shed? Despite its great size?”

“It’s called the Shedd Aquarium. A man named Shedd started it. We’ll go soon, okay? But look.” She gestured ahead of them. “We’re at the river.”

As she led him down a broad, curving set of stairs, he realized aloud, “I don’t even smell it.”

“Smell what?” She tilted her head. “You thought the river would stink!”

“Yea, my lady,” he admitted. “The stench of the Thames in London was nigh enough to knock a man flat, and even London Town was but a little village compared to your Chicago…but now I see how pleasant this is.”

Couples and families wandered along the paved bank. Some people sat at metal tables in metal chairs, drinking coffee, wine, or ale, chatting and laughing. A man and a woman paddled by in the narrowest of boats, while another, larger boat sped in the other direction. The sunlight glinted on the little waves in its wake.

“Isn’t it nice?” she asked, then pointed to a counter beneath a sign that read TINY TAPP . “I’m going to buy a bottle of water. Do you want one?”

“Aye, thank you.” The walk had made him thirsty, too, and even if the river didn’t smell, he supposed it might not be fresh enough for drinking.

As they stood in line, his gaze fell on a rack of colorful printed papers, gathered in bundles. Books with soft covers, he realized, when he picked one up. With some effort, he made out the letters. Hollywood’s Handsomest Bachelors!

“Do you know these men?” he asked.

“Um, not personally? But they’re very rich and famous.” She gave him a flirty smile. “Not as handsome as you are, though.”

His gaze trailed down her tempting form, his blood heating. It was she, above all, that he thirsted for.

“Can I help you?” the young lady behind the counter asked them, a touch of impatience in her voice.

“Oh! Sorry,” Emily said. “Two bottled waters.” Griffin set the booklet back into the rack, carefully so as not to damage it.

The lady retrieved them and set them down on the counter. “That’ll be seven dollars and seventy-three cents.”

Griffin waited for Emily to haggle, but she only dug into her purse. She was too gentle, he realized, to even argue.

“We will pay five dollars,” he told the lady firmly, “and no more.”

The young lady looked from him to Emily. “So you only want one?”

Emily’s mouth formed a silent O of understanding. “We don’t bargain for things,” she told Griffin.

“What, never?” he asked, dumbfounded. The man in line behind them gave a loud sigh.

“With a few things, but not food,” Emily said, and turned back to the young lady. “Go ahead and ring it up.” She even put an extra dollar in a jar on the counter. Then she handed Griffin his bottle, which was astonishingly light.

As they walked back to the water’s edge, Griffin said, “?’Tis very strange to pay any price a seller demands.”

“I didn’t even think about that,” she admitted. “There’s a lot I don’t know about your time. The things I do know are mostly related to art.”

She pulled out her phone to tap and stare at it. “Tomorrow afternoon,” she murmured to herself.

“What’s tomorrow afternoon, sweet bird?”

“I have a meeting. Um…it’s a work thing.” No doubt she felt it would be too tedious to explain. “Hang on just a minute, okay? I’m going to reserve a conference room.”

Griffin took a long swig from the bottle, draining half its contents, and then squeezed it experimentally. It was made of some remarkably flexible glass. He watched a large boat go by, then looked down at the water. Even the butchers weren’t throwing their entrails into it, it seemed. There was something strange about it, though…

When Emily put her phone away again, he asked, “Why does the river not flow to the sea? I mean, to the great lake?”

“Oh, that’s right!” She spun to face him triumphantly. “You are looking at the only river in the world that flows backward.”

He gave a huff of surprise. “The world is full of wonders.”

“Oh, it’s not a natural wonder. It used to be a lot dirtier, just like you were expecting, and the lake is our drinking water, so we forced it to flow backward.”

Shocked, he cast another look down at the waters below. “Was this a sorcerer, or some Heracles, who could change the course of a river?”

“Nope. Just a bunch of engineers and workers. And on St. Patrick’s Day…” She paused. “Have you heard of St. Patrick?”

Griffin’s spirits brightened even further. It always cheered his heart when she spoke of familiar things. “Aye, as a youth he was enslaved by Irish raiders, but later he returned to convert them all to Christendom.” He took another long drink.

She lifted her eyebrows. “Well, St. Patrick’s Day is the only feast day we celebrate in a big way in this country.”

He was surely misunderstanding her. “There are sixty holy days a year. You cannot tell me you work on all these days, when you should be enjoying the customs and foods, and holding observances, both solemn and lighthearted.”

“Unfortunately, we do work on most of those days. We only have, I don’t know, a dozen holidays?”

“But without the various feast days, does not every week feel the same?”

She gave a wry laugh. “Well, kind of.” Then she squeezed his arm. “But not since you’re here.”

He smiled at that. “How do you celebrate St. Patrick’s feast day?” They might as well speak of the few celebrations she was allowed. “Do you put a shamrock in the bottom of a glass of ale and drink a toast to the saint?”

Her mouth fell open. “Close! A lot of people drink green beer.” Before he could ask how green beer was made, or whether it tasted like grass, she added, “But that’s not the best part.” She bounced on her toes. “We also turn this whole river green.”

For a moment, he stared at her like a clodpole…and then he realized what was happening. She was trying to fool him!

He roared with laughter and, on an impulse, he picked her up and swung her around. She gave a startled, “Oh!”

He set her down on her feet and wagged his finger at her. “That was an excellent jest, sweeting. I almost believed you.”

People at nearby tables had turned to stare at them both. She laughed, sounding a little breathless. “I’m not jesting!”

Griffin looked to the other people watching them in case they could confirm or deny this. “The whole river? Then why is it not still green?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. The dye doesn’t last more than a day.”

“We must come back to the river on St. Patrick’s Day,” he told her, “so that I may see this wonder for myself.”

“Sure. Along with a couple million of our closest friends.”

Griffin shook his head. “I cannot believe you recognize no other saint’s days. Not even St. George’s Day, when we all paraded on horseback in our armor?”

She cocked her head. “You did? Why?”

“Out of respect to St. George…but in truth, ’twas to show off.”

“I’ll bet you were a resplendent sight,” she said with a sparkle in her eyes. Resplendent —that was a word from his time, and he guessed she’d used it on purpose for his sake, which touched his heart.

“That is the second time on this walk you have called me handsome,” he pointed out, lifting his chin.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she teased. “Are you tired of hearing it?”

“If you said it a hundred times, I would not tire of it.” He touched his fingertip to her nose. “Which I think you know.”

She beamed at him. “I might’ve guessed.” She took his hand and they walked on.

He’d drank all the water in his bottle, and he squeezed it again. “Do we keep these?”

“What? Oh no, we can just throw them away.”

“Very good.” He threw it—and it smacked a man right in the face as he sped past.

Griffin froze. Emily gave a shocked yelp.

The man yelled, “Hey!” and glided unnaturally back to them.

“You have wheels on your boots,” Griffin realized aloud in wonder.

“Did you just throw trash at me?” he demanded.

Shame enveloped him. It could not have caused an injury other than to the man’s dignity, but that was serious enough.

“My good sir.” He sketched an apologetic bow. “?’Twas never my intention to strike anyone, though there is no excuse for my carelessness. I most humbly apologize.”

He scowled at him. “You shouldn’t be throwing trash, anyway.”

“He’s not from this country,” Emily said quickly. She scuttled to retrieve the bottle on the sidewalk.

Somehow, Griffin had misunderstood her. “You are right,” he told the man, “and I will never do it again.”

“You better not,” he grumbled, and then turned and glided away in his wheeled boots.

Emily walked a short distance away from him and deposited both of their empty bottles in a barrel. Clearly, that was what she’d meant for him to do.

He’d ruined Emily’s afternoon. Once he’d been a gentleman, a nobleman, one who knew how to behave at every opportunity. Could she still respect him, when his ignorance made him foolish? Should he ask her about it?

She returned to his side, laughing. “I’ll try to be more specific.” She slipped her hand in his. “That was totally my fault.”

His embarrassment vanished at her touch and at the merriment sparkling in her brown eyes. There was no reason to bother her with his worries. As always, he reminded himself to take things lightly.

A few tiny raindrops fell, and she gasped. “It’s raining! You were right!”

This assuaged his pride. “I do know some things, my lady.”

The rain was no more than a sprinkle, and they walked as much as possible under store canopies as they headed back the way they’d come. When they got to one window he’d wondered about before, displaying stacks of little brown balls and blocks, he couldn’t help but ask what they were.

“Oh yes! It’s chocolate,” she said. “There was some of it mixed in the ice cream the other day? It tastes like heaven . Do you want to get some?”

The ice cream had been delicious, but still, this confection didn’t look like anything he wanted to put in his mouth. “Nay, thank you, my lady, for your presence is sweet enough.”

Pink rose in her cheeks. They walked on a few steps, and then she snapped her fingers. “Oh my gosh, we do celebrate another saint’s day! St. Valentine’s Day! Except we just call it Valentine’s Day, so I forgot.”

“Ah.” He felt a smile tugging at his lips. “In my time, that day had become a celebration of courtly love.”

Surprise and then delight illuminated her features. “Really?”

“Aye, there were contests of romantic poetry, and dancing, and professions of love.”

She squeezed his hand and told him of their St. Valentine’s Day traditions. They exchanged letters with poems or affectionate jokes, enjoyed lavish dinners, and gave each other gifts. The men, in particular, gave the ladies chocolates.

Surely, he would enjoy all these celebrations with her…although being here was cause enough for celebration.