The harsh words sent me back a step. “Actually, I was hoping we’d go and see her.” Nick’s brows shot up, and I barreled on, my breath short. “Rather than burning her, she could help us with the blue-diamond ring. Maybe this Nightingale girl could tell us why a ring that was supposed to curse you sends people forward in time instead...to twenty-first-century America, of all places. And why didn’t the ring work properly the last time we used it? Maybe she can tell us.” I scanned Nick’s expression for evidence that he was also concerned about the ring acting oddly.
His body stiffened like a statue, before resuming his tying. “I admit that this alarms me.”
Relief expelled hot air from my lungs. “I know. What if the ring has stopped working altogether and we’re stuck here?”
His face twisted. “I mean to say that your words alarm me…your preoccupation with this ring and the dark arts. If the people even suspect that their queen is a heretic, they will petition to have you burned.” He tugged the leather to tighten the knot, unsettling his grunting horse. “Furthermore, what you say of being ‘stuck’…is that not the purpose of you being here? To stay?” He scraped a hand through his disheveled hair, looking frustrated.
“Of course it is!” I replied, trying not to lose my cool. “But you promised me that I could go back home and tell my mom why her only child has disappeared for the third time. When you asked me to marry you, you said that we had to come back to Tudor England immediately, which gave me hardly any chance to think and no time to talk to my mom.” I emphasized every word like Nick was a two-year-old.
He brought a hand to his brow, holding it there for a moment.
When he finally looked at me, he could hardly meet my eyes. “Forgive me…you speak the truth. I gave you my word, and I have been too occupied with all manner of headaches since we arrived to think of it.” His teeth grazed his bottom lip. “There remains much to prepare for your coronation, but you must see your mother.”
He found my fingers. “We will go to your home this night,” he said matter-of-factly, like he was suggesting tacos for dinner.
The floor slipped out from under me. “Tonight? We?”
“I fear that I will survive not if you return to your time without me. When there is talk of war, a prince does well to remain secure in his chambers. Amid this Spain business, I can make preparations to be confined to my rooms without being disturbed, and we shall take leave to see your mother. God willing, I could get us a day at best. I pray you say it is enough.”
“It’s enough, it’s enough,” I cried, folding my arms around him and squeezing with relief so intense that it pinned a smile to my face.
An uncomfortable shiver jerked through me, wiping away the grin. I’d planted myself in Tudor England for nearly two months. How had my presence here affected the path of history? Not to mention my poor mom. Guilt thickened my throat at the thought of what my disappearance had done to her. At least now I could finally tell her the truth about where I went and end all the mystery.
It was time for my mom to meet Nicholas the Ironheart.
6
It was past midnight when Nick summoned me to his chambers, a portrait of cute kingliness as he pored over a scroll in a navy-blue jerkin with teal herringbone stitching. He must’ve commanded we be given our privacy because the gentlemen and pages swiftly evaporated from sight. Guarding my chastity was evidently no longer priority number one now that time travel was on the agenda.
I crawled right on top of him in the chair, its wooden legs protesting with a creak. He was chewing a mint sprig that smelled like toothpaste, and a gilded wine cup sat on the hand-painted table beside him.
“Sleepy?” he said, planting a gentle kiss on my nose.
“That’s me,” I replied, drawing my knees up and snuggling into his chest. The room always felt lighter when we were alone.
He dropped his papers onto the side table and shifted to get comfortable beneath me.
It was the first time we’d cuddled this closely without kissing each other senseless, the heaviness of the situation overpowering the intense attraction between us. Plus, all I could think about was whether the ring would fail to work and if I’d never get back to my time again. I shut out the depressing thought, and we stayed wrapped together on a sixteenth-century chair, waiting for sleep to carry us to an uncertain future.
The first time I awakened, Nick was deep in slumberland. The candle beside us flickered lower, and the silk bed sheets were still folded open, prepared for the king’s rest.
Please, no. We’re still at Hampton Court…I’m never getting home again!
I twisted to relieve my stiff muscles, and Nick stirred.
“The ring’s not working again,” I hissed in the darkness.
“Fear not,” he said drowsily. “Let us move to the bed. Perhaps it is not restful enough here.”
Hoping with every fiber of my being that he was right, I followed him onto the raised four-poster bed and crawled into the silk sheets. Maybe that’s what went wrong on the uncomfortable riverbank when the ring failed to transport us through time on the first try—perhaps we hadn’t fallen into a deep enough sleep for it to work correctly. Nick hugged me from behind, and I nestled into the cradle of his arms, waiting for the tiredness to overcome my body again. Every hour it took for us to get to my world was one less hour I could spend there.
If we get back there at all.
My body had begun to sink into the mattress when I rolled over onto a jagged rock, the humid odor of moist sand overwhelming my nose. My sticky eyelids broke open.
The creamy edges of Nick’s linen shirt fluttered in the wind from a few feet away. He stood facing the lapping shoreline of the Connecticut River—right where we’d left the last time. I could’ve cried out with relief. The sun’s position suggested it was mid-morning.
“Good morning,” I called, my voice hoarse with sleep. He spun to me and smiled, but his cheeks were drained of color. Still, the sight of him in my time made my chest twist with an ache I felt keenly. He was a Tudor king, yet he somehow suited this place. If only this world could be enough for him…if I alone could be enough for him.
Goosebumps speckled my neck. Temperatures had cooled since we were last here.
Nick climbed back up the bank and took my hand. His shook a little. “What of your cloth…and mine?” He gestured to my white satin stomacher and lush gown the color of red wine.
“If anything, they’ll help explain where we’ve been,” I said, realizing how idiotic that sounded. Emmie. You haven’t just been in Maine for the summer.
We scaled the tangle of muddy roots until the field behind my house emerged through the slouching willow trees. It felt like I hadn’t been here in ten years. Something was comforting about the quiet meadow dotted with the tired old horses. If you squinted to shut out the power lines and the glimpses of white fencing from Bayberry Street, we could’ve been in Tudor England. I hoped that Nick took solace in that as we inched closer to my fence, one petrified step at a time. Were we really doing this?
As the chipped tiles from our roof came into view, my palms dampened with sweat. My fingers slipped on the latch of our fence, and Nick pressed his hand to my back to steady me.