Chapter Seven

M aggie sat in the library staring at the glass case and the gauntlet inside. She knew she hadn't dreamed that she saw him die. It had been real. Would touching the gauntlet bring her back to those terrible moments? She didn't want Oliver to touch it and be brought back to witness his death. He didn't want to witness it either.

"I fear I'll walk these battlements forever if I do," he'd told her while the sun began its ascent over the horizon.

But she knew this was all happening for a reason. The gauntlet had a purpose in his life, and she was a part of it. She had to find out what it was. She didn't want to admit it, but she was falling for a ghost. It was too tragic. Maybe she was here to find a way to save him. Well, she couldn't do it from this side.

She knew she didn't have long before he arrived. Whatever she was here to do, she wanted to see it done. She reached over, opened the glass door, and swept her fingers over the warm metal.

She heard him shout her name as he entered the library, and then the sound faded as she disappeared and other sounds replaced it. Sounds that she shouldn't be hearing. Like chickens squawking and the clang of a hammer hitting metal, women shouting at their children who ran around sheets hanging in the sun. This wasn't the library. Her heart thrashed within her. What year was it? She looked around. She stood in the middle of a narrow, cobblestone street. The air felt damp and uninviting. On either side of her vendors sold wares. Behind them were small thatched-roof cottages where the townspeople lived. There was horse manure everywhere, which accounted for the smell. A group of children were running in her direction. When one of them smashed into her and then looked up wide-eyed and lips parted, she looked down to smile at him but noticed her blue-velvet-laced skirts. What? She felt herself and the tight corset binding her. She was solid! She was solid, and so were the children. Where did her clothes come from? What did it mean? That was the second shock, the first being that she had gone back to the past again.

"Mum! The lady just came here!"

Maggie realized what the boy meant. She hadn't been standing there and then she was. Thankfully, no one but the child was aware of it.

"Okay Junior, move along now." Maggie stepped around him and straight into his mother. She wanted to grind her teeth, but smiled instead. "I was turning the corner and the next thing I knew your child was colliding into me."

The mother looked repentant and then called to her son. "Roger, what did I tell you about running with your friends? Get your arse here for a beating right this minute before you make me lose my temper."

Maggie shivered a little, listening. "A beating is unnecessary. I'll just be going."

"Make way for the Earl of Harwich!" a man's voice shouted out, stopping Maggie's heart.

The Earl of Harwich? Oliver? Had she come to a day that he was alive? Oh, she was going to faint. No, she wouldn't faint. She turned to look down the street at an entourage of men approaching. Was he there? She didn't think her heart could take it much longer. And then she spotted him upon a black stallion…striking among the other men with him. He sat tall in the saddle in leather and chainmail, his raven locks eclipsing his violet gaze as it spread over the people scurrying out of his way.

Oliver. Alive. Solid, like her.

His entourage moved closer and Maggie took a step toward him. Was this real? How could it be? She felt as if she were moving in a dream, closer and closer. She almost reached him until a muscular arm came up before her, almost hitting her in the chest to stop her.

"Stand back," the arm's owner growled at her. "Make way for the earl."

She looked up to see Oliver about to pass her on his horse a few feet away. "Ol—Lord Harwich!"

He turned his head and looked around for the one who called him.

The brute who'd barricaded her way using his arm gave her a shove. She landed on her knees before Oliver's horse. The earl said nothing and when she looked up and met his gaze, it was only her breath that faltered. He appeared completely unaffected as he rode his mount around her.

"Lord Harwich, it's me, Maggie…Maggie Montgomery." She didn't know why she told him her last name. She hoped it would produce some kind of reaction in him. It did.

He tugged on his reins and looked down at her. "Montgomery? Are you any relation to Lady Eleanor?"

Maggie drew in a deep breath. So, even here the question prevailed. "A distant relation, my lord."

He startled her and made her heart leap when he dismounted and landed on his feet in front of her. He looked her over with cool, curious eyes, making Maggie wonder how she looked. She reached up to feel her hair tied at the temples and secured at the back of her head. The rest hung loose down her back. Who brushed her hair?

It was no easy task.

She felt his gaze on her and lowered hers. Not low enough, for she found her gaze fastening to his decadently carved lips curling into a grin. Could she touch him? Kiss him?

"Many make such claims, Lady."

He didn't recognize her. He had no reason to, since he knows her as a ghost in the future, but his detachment pierced like an arrow, nonetheless, making her want to double over.

"It isn't my name that matters," she told him as all traces of humor left his face. "I'm not your enemy."

"My enemy? Why do you bring up such unpleasant things?" His voice pulsed in her ears, resonant and vital. "Many believe it a form of confession of guilt when someone protests before the subject is even brought up."

Maggie swallowed and forgot to breathe as he gave a nod to the brute still blocking her. She felt a beefy hand clasp her nape and drag her away. "Oliver!" she cried out.

He turned to look her way, casting the brute a subtle warning to lower his hand from her neck.

The instant she was free, she stomped her foot and had a mini meltdown right there on the cobblestone streets of Harwich. She glared at the brute, vowing in her mind that no matter how grimy he looked, she'd take a bite out of him if he put his hands near her again.

"Tell me how you dare call out my Christian name?"

And this one! She turned to glare at Oliver, the shell of the ghost she left. Allowing his vassal to be treated so poorly! It was unforgivable, really. But she'd forgive him this once. "You don't know what my heart has been put through over you, Ghost," she murmured too softly for anyone to hear. And she'd obviously go through more for him. What if she was allowed to be here to warn him? She wouldn't stop.

"I'm Mag…Magnolia." It was what he called her. "I'm here to help you, my lord." She couldn't help him when he was falling, but now it wasn't too late. "You exist in the future, Oliver," she said quietly, but he was still close enough to hear. "But you're no longer alive. You roam Graven's halls alone and filled with hatred and revenge against the one who took your life."

The first thing she noticed was the vibrancy in his eyes, the naturally coral color of his cheeks. This was him alive. She wanted to grab on to him and not let Eleanor anywhere near him. For an instant that she wasn't sure was real or not, she thought she saw a flash of something—perhaps recognition in his gaze.

"Who took my life?"

This was it. It might get her in trouble, but it could be a way to save him. "Your wife."

And then, whatever she saw in his gaze was gone, replaced by a hollow chuckle. "Are you a witch?"

"No. But I know how she kills you."

He slid his gaze to another fit looking brute on the other side of her and nodded his head. "Bring her to the dungeon."

"What?" She struggled against brute number two. He barely moved in response. "Wait! Let me go! Lord Harwich, listen to me, please!"

"I will," he called out to her as he leaped back on to his horse. "You'll come to the fortress, but you will not be a guest."

"But the dungeon? We're friends!"

He cantered his horse to her and offered her a mocking smile. "Friends? You are friends with a dead man?"

"Yes," she answered as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "A dear friend."

He looked as if he might burst into laughter, or at least cast her another derisive chuckle. She knew how she sounded, especially to a sixteenth century man. But he didn't laugh, or even smile. Did he believe her? Oh, please let him believe her!

When he was to give his reins a flick, she stopped him. "Please, not the dungeon, my lord."

His gaze lingered on her for a moment and then shifted to the man beside her. "To the dungeon."

Maggie's mouth fell open watching him ride off. That bas—

She snapped her mouth shut when a fly flew by her. The second man to guard her and bring her to the dungeon took hold of her elbow and did his duty without being too rough about it.

She was spitting mad at Oliver's treatment though. How was she supposed to help him if she was locked away in the dungeon?

When she arrived there a few minutes later, she rethought her decision to do anything for Oliver.

"How long has Lord Harwich been married?" she asked as her escort locked her inside a tiny room behind an iron gate. Better to keep her mind on saving Oliver then on where she was and from screaming her head off.

"It has been eight months now," the guard told her. "Though on the day of his wedding, he was summoned away by the king and then sent immediately out to battle without even a farewell from his bride."

"So, they haven't seen each other in eight months?"

"That's right."

Maggie felt a little terrible inside that she found such happiness in the fact that the couple had been torn apart. Did it make a difference to Oliver that his wife hardly knew him?

Since the guard was so talkative, Maggie kept asking him questions. She also didn't want to be alone down here. Her cell was built in a corner, barely lit by one torch. The rest was all shadows. A nightmare.

"What's she been doing while he was away all these months?"

He shrugged his broad shoulders. "I was with my lord."

"Of course. What are you called again?"

"Appleton, my lady."

"Appleton, do you know of any reason Lady Eleanor would want to poison her husband?"

Appleton's face went hard. "You shouldn't be speaking of—"

"I have to!" She didn't care if they accused her of being a witch. And she knew what that meant in this era. If she could save him from that horrible fall, she'd do it. "I know she's going to poison him and request that he wear his gauntlets and chainmail. Look out for him, Appleton. That's all I'm asking. She's going to lure him to the battlements. Stop him if you see him. Do you hear me? If he goes to her she'll push him over the wall. Even if he could swim, the metal would make him sink. Please, believe me. I know how I sound—"

"Appleton," said a voice as deep as the waves outside the walls, "you may go."

Maggie watched Oliver come out of the deep shadows. Appleton hurried toward the stairs. As he reached the first step, Oliver stopped him. "Pay no attention to her ramblings. She will be punished if anyone hears you speaking of this. So, hush."

Did he just protect her?

Appleton nodded and gave his word, then continued up.

Alone with him in the dim light, she listened to the rhythm of his breath for the first time. She wanted to rejoice and cheer. He was alive!

"My lord, please forgive me—

"Why so formal suddenly?" he asked, coming closer to the gate, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Oliver," she peeped out meekly. "I know I sound like a—"

He nodded, coming closer. "You sound impassioned."

Maggie swallowed and barely remembered to breathe while she stared into his eyes. She bit her tongue to keep from begging him to believe her.

"Who told you Eleanor will do this to me?"

Oh, why had she been assigned to do whatever she was doing? It was breaking her heart to tell him. "I come from another time, I suspect to warn you of your death."

"From what time?"

How was she supposed to convince him when she couldn't think straight? "What time?" Is that what he wanted to know after hearing about his death? "Two thousand and twenty-four."

He was still on the other side of the gate, and then he laughed. "You're quite clever—

"Oliver, please listen. No matter how mad it sounds, just listen. Eleanor is going to poison you. It could be tonight!" she cried out as panic filled her. "Please, let me out."

"Why? Why would she kill me?"

"To get this fortress and your other holdings. You have no heirs and no family members so it was easy to get you to sign everything over to her."

His lips tightened and his nostrils flared. In the dim light she thought she saw the glisten of tears. Did he believe her? Had he given her everything already?

"Please, don't leave me in here," she begged. Then swiped her knuckles over her nose. "I'm going to be so angry with you when I get back. I might not forgive you for this, Lord Harwich."

"You confuse me, woman," he confessed, angling his head to perhaps get her from a different view. "You're obviously mad, and yet I feel your words being emblazoned in me. Instead of hurrying to see my wife, whom I haven't greeted in eight months, I'm here with you, listening to your mad ramblings. Why is that? What are you doing to me?"

"How am I supposed to answer that?" she demanded in a low voice. "I don't know why all this is happening, or why I can see your spirit six hundred years from now."

"Six hundred—" he repeated until she cut him off.

"You're so hurt in the future, my—Oliver. You've been betrayed by your wife and watched her while she pushed you over the wall, pulling your gloved hands off her when you tried to hold on to your life."

He held up his hand, stopping her from saying anything more. He took a key from his pocket and opened the prison gate to let her out. Before she could leap into his arms, the world around her changed. The dungeon walls fell away. No! No! Not yet. She reached for him and this time, when he touched his fingers to hers, she felt him, warm and secure. "Oliver."

And then it was over.