Through Time for Love & Honor: Mediaeval Hearts Series

Through Time for Love & Honor (KnightStalker) Reviews

"Linda Ciletti is an author to keep an eye on for any of her releases because they are not to be missed. I adored this story, and it kept me glued to the pages as the adventure and danger increased to a breaking point where one will survive, and one must die. Ms. Ciletti is a talented author, with a skill to bring her characters to life, and to create people that the reader will truly care about. Her hero, Michel, is a rare treat as he copes with life in the future with several very humorous moments as he discovers the joys of today’s world, and learning to cope with the ladies in the 21st century!

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Please read this story for a fabulous evening’s entertainment. Turn off the television (as I did) and lose yourself in the adventures of a lifetime as the past meets the present, and good overcomes evil. I loved the ending, and I would love to read further stories about this couple.(hint hint) Thank you, Ms. Ciletti, for the joy your story brings to the readers." Singletitles.com Review – 4.5 Stars February 2009

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This gripping tale from Linda Ciletti took my breath away and will take yours too. Michel, the French speaking chivalrous knight is a dreamboat of a hero and little Timmy, a seer in the making, is a delight too.....A superb tale that shouldn’t be missed. I recommend it whole-heartedly... Fantastic Read – WRDF Review, Feb. 2009

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Through Time for Love & Honor (KnightStalker) is a fantastic modernization of the ancient mystical tale of a knight rescuing his fair damsel and is loaded with chivalry and romance. The love in this story is palpable and makes a wonderful read! 5 stars – Amazon Customer, June 2013

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I enjoyed reading this book. 5 Stars – Amazon Customer, September 2015

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Great read. Very engaging storyline and embraceable characters. I will look for more of your books to read on my next vacation. 5 Stars – Amazon Customer, September 201

Dedication

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A dedication and thanks to:

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Author Barbara Miller and author and editor, Judith Gallagher, who invested time above and beyond to teach me my craft.

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Thanks, also, to the Greensburg Writers Group. Your critiques and comments were (and still are) much appreciated. And to the members of Romance Writers of America’s Chapter #140 for your support and friendship.

Prologue

England AD 1376

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Isabo’s death was a senseless one, just as the eight deaths before hers.

Michel reined his stallion into an expansive field full with tall wild grasses that flattened with the sharp pre-storm wind. The dark sky shadowed the world with the oppressive hand of the almighty. Thick, grey clouds hovered exceptionally low, threatening rain. He nudged his horse to a full gallop, slowed, then stopped to cast an anxious search over the field. Amidst the soft howling of the wind sounded the strained and heavy breaths of his steed. The horses were nearly worn through. His liege would soon have need to call the chase off.

His lord and liege, Henry of Banesford, drew his mount alongside him. Several other soldiers followed close behind. Michel observed Henry as his liege scanned the open meadow much as he had.

See you him, my lord? Michel asked as a blast of wind whipped over him, impairing his vision.

Henry shielded his eyes. Nay. You?

Nay.

At the crest of the hill, a third man shouted.

Michel looked up to see Ruford seated on his stallion high atop the hill, the heavy clouds nearly touching him. The brisk wind whipped over Ruford, lifting his stallion’s mane and tail. The far horizon backlit Ruford’s silhouette with a soft grey-lit sky.

Michel’s first impulse was to nudge his horse to a full gallop and run the man down. He snapped his reins. "Allons-y!" He called out. Let’s go.

Hold! Henry ordered.

What is it? Michel drew the reins tight and held back his steed. It pawed the earth, anxious to complete the mission.

Something is amiss. Look. Henry pointed to Ruford’s dark silhouette. A halo of green now surrounded him.

Michel shielded his eyes and studied their prey. "Mon Dieu! he swore. The glow intensifies."

Aye. And Ruford sits unmoving.

Then let us grab him whilst we can. Michel readied to spur his mount forward.

Again Henry held him back. Nay. I smell disaster.

A thunderous crash rattled the heavens and shook the ground.

Michel lowered his eyes against a blinding burst of light. When he looked up, the entire meadow glowed an eerie green. Ruford was gone. For a moment all he could do was gawk like a fool. Then he shook free from the shock and spurred his horse to where Ruford had been sitting.

Henry and the other knights raced alongside him to the top of the hill.

God’s mercy! Henry swore as they reached the peak. Is it dead?

The large, unmoving bulk of a horse lay sprawled on the ground, its flesh still smoking. Michel jumped down from his mount and checked Ruford’s steed. He ground his jaw and gave a nod. Quite.

And Ruford?

He is not here, my lord.

Not there? But how? Henry shot a fast glance over the area. The field lay open in all directions. He scanned the expansive length and breadth of it, then turned to face Michel. I see him not. How could he have escaped unseen so quickly?

Michel could feel the heaviness of failure press down on him. He had failed his liege lord, failed his God.

’Tis as though he just disappeared, Henry said. Impossible. Surely he is dead.

He lives, Michel replied.

How? Henry pointed to Ruford’s lifeless horse. No man could survive such a blast.

I know not, my lord. I know only that I must find him.

Henry looked at Michel as though he’d lost his senses. Find him? How?

’Twas the accursed armor which brought the lightning to him, sent him to another place.

Another place? Nay, Michel. Granted, the metal from which the armor was forged had unusual properties, but to cause one to vanish to another place?

You did see it as clearly as I, Michel retorted.

I did see him disappear is all. But to believe him yet alive and elsewhere?

See you a body? Michel asked. He sliced the air with his hand.

Nay.

The bolt struck him as a purposeful act. Ruford lives. Michel struck his heart with a gloved fist. I feel it here. He looked at Henry, caught his leige’s shocked regard. ’Tis my duty to stop him, my lord. I did vow this.

Then I release you of this vow, Henry commanded.

You cannot. ’Twas not a vow to you, Michel informed him. ’Twas a vow to another.

To whom? Henry demanded.

To Isabo ... and to God. Michel replied. He saw Henry’s expression fall. His lord would argue no more. A vow to God was sacred.

But how will you hunt him when you know not where to look?

There is but one place to look, my lord. Michel hung his head.

Where?

Lifting his head, Michel met Henry’s gaze. To the remaining armor.

Henry’s eyes widened. Allow yourself to be struck by lightning! he bellowed. Nay! I forbid it.

There is no other way, Michel argued. Ruford has killed nine innocents already. He must be stopped.

Ruford is gone. That is all that matters, Henry argued.

But gone where? Michel asked, knowing that was not all that mattered. How many others will die, ’haps not at Banesford, but elsewhere—innocent young maids like Isabo.

Michel watched Henry’s visage shift from that of horror to that of regret at the heinous way his niece had been murdered. Her hands bound in silver cord. Her throat slashed from ear to ear.

A moment of godly silence passed. But even should it work and you are able to follow him, Henry replied, "how will you return? Will you be able to return?"

A sullen Michel looked at Henry as though for the last time. I know not, he answered. But I will have stopped a murderer. Isabo’s killer.

Michel heard Henry’s resigning sigh. It was a sigh of regret. A sigh of sadness and grief. Finally, Henry relented. Then go, Michel. He gave Michel’s shoulder a fatherly squeeze. And God go with you.

Chapter 1

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Present Day

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Rachael held the phone receiver tight between her ear and shoulder. Her neck was beginning to ache. She’d been tempted to let the phone ring and go into voicemail. Now she wished she had. Not that she didn’t look forward to talking with Phil; but history showed, when he called out of the blue, like tonight, he usually wanted something.

What are you saying? That Katrina can’t do the concert? Her dark auburn hair, tied back at the nape, fell in a long cascade down her back. A stray hair tickled her nose and she tucked it behind her ear.

Katrina had a minor accident and will be laid up awhile. Phil hesitated. We need you, Rachael.

Rachael paced the kitchen. She opened the freezer and pulled out a small container of rocky road ice cream. This phone conversation called for comfort food.

Phil . . . She shoved a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth, felt it melt in smooth perfection on her tongue, then disappear. The show is only three weeks away. I’ll never be ready that soon. Can’t you find someone else? What about—

She heard Phil sigh.

Calm down, you’ll be fine, Phil assured her. And put that rocky road back in the fridge.

Rachael choked.

See, it’s deadly. Phil paused, then said, You’re the most accomplished flutist I know, better than Katrina. You’ll do just fine. You always do.

Rachael felt her breath grow shallow. She breathed deeply to combat her nervousness. She’d never performed as a soloist. Never desired to. Her voice shook. As part of the main orchestra, yes, but—

Rach, you’re all I have. Sorry. And you’re ready. You’re really ready.

Rachael switched the receiver to her other ear and worked the kink from her neck.

Listen, I hate to cut you short, but I’ve gotta run. She heard finality in Phil’s tone. So much to do, so little time.

But Phil!

Don’t forget, solo practice starts Friday evening after regular practice.

Rachael gasped. That’s tomorrow!

Yeah, it is. Don’t be late.

Phil? Phil! Don’t you hang up on—

A sudden click sounded over the line.

Damn! Rachael slammed the receiver into its cradle. For two cents I’d hire a new agent, she grumbled.

Yeah right. She ate several more spoonfuls of ice cream, then stuffed the container back into the freezer. She knew she could never fire Phil. He was too great an agent and too good a friend. If only he wasn’t so damn infuriating. But Phil had given her a means to keep Timmy warm, safe, and fed when Timmy’s louse of a father took off. Thank God she hadn’t married the loser. For Phil’s kindness and support, she would be eternally grateful.

However, filling in for Katrina meant additional evening practices at the concert hall and less time spent with Timmy. Rachael sighed. She hadn’t enough time to spend with him as it was. How was she going to explain to a five-year-old who spent half a day in kindergarten and the other half with a sitter that his mommy must go to work during the few hours of evening that belonged to him?

Rachael sighed again. It wasn’t that she begrudged having Timmy or caring for him. Timmy was the light of her life, the silver lining to her cloudy existence. Never would she regret giving birth to her son. Timmy deserved better—much better.

Mommy? A small tow-headed boy peered hesitantly into the kitchen, his voice shaky and uncertain.

Timmy, honey. Rachael cast her concerns aside for a more important issue. She padded across the smooth tiled floor in slippered feet and knelt before him. Are you okay? She wrapped her arms about him and gave him an affectionate squeeze. Why aren’t you in bed? she asked, though she already knew the reason.

Timmy sniffled. I had’d a bad dream, Mommy. Safe in his mother’s company, he straightened his shoulders, his feigned bravado prompting Rachael to smile. And then I heared you yelling. His bottom lip extended in a pout. "Are you okay?" he asked in his mature little-boy way.

Rachael’s heart warmed at his concern. Her smile deepened. I’m fine, honey. Thank you. She ruffled his sleep-tousled hair, a pale cascade of soft silk that brushed just past his ears. The scent of herbal shampoo wafted about him. But you should be in bed. You’ve got kindergarten in the morning.

But Maawm! Timmy protested, his pout more pronounced.

No ifs, buts, or protests. Taking Timmy’s small hand in hers, Rachael led him through the living room and up the dark walnut staircase to the second floor. Come on, I’ll tuck you in. She accompanied him down the narrow hall. As they neared his room, his lips pressed to a firm line, his eyes grew wide and wary, and she sensed a definite hesitation in his step. Timmy, it’s okay, she assured him. Recognizing his need to not be alone, she said, I’ll stay with you as long as you need me.

Timmy’s lips curved to a tentative smile. The worry crease of his brow fell smooth.

Rachael lifted Timmy in her arms and gave him an affectionate hug. She then laid him on the single bookcase bed where he kept his favorite reads. Lifting his downy comforter out from under him, she lovingly drew it over him and tucked its edges between the mattresses, sealing him in its warmth.

Will you read me a story? Timmy asked.

But I already read you a story earlier.

Please, Mommy, please. His eyes grew wide and pleading. Jist one.

But it’s nearly midnight and—

Please, Mommy. Timmy pouted—a beseeching pout that Rachael could not dismiss. She sighed resignedly.

Okay, but just one—a short one. She ran a searching finger over the spines of the books that rested above Timmy’s head.

The one wif the knight, Timmy said. Contorting about, he pointed to a small thin book.

Pulling it free from the grouping, Rachael read the title aloud. "Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, the Children’s Version. She stared down at Timmy’s supine form, so small and comfy beneath the thick covers. Again?"

Timmy nodded eagerly and snuggled into his pillow.

But isn’t it a bit . . . Rachael paused. Though the story was toned down for youthful reading, it was still violent. frightening for this late hour? She considered the cover art of a large and fearsome green knight, wondered if this book wasn’t the cause of Timmy’s recent nightmares.

Oh no, Mommy. He’s a good knight, Timmy replied. He jist looks mean.

I know, but . . . Rachael looked at Timmy’s wide-eyed plea then succumbed. Okay. Pulling Timmy’s receding covers up beneath his chin, she brushed back a strand of pale hair from his face and kissed his forehead, a tinge of mother’s guilt nagging her at the extra practice sessions she would have to attend. She owed Timmy this story. Close your eyes and think happy thoughts. Rachael opened the book to page one, chapter one, and began reciting. Silence! shouted Sir Gawain one New Year’s Day . . .

~*~

Timmy, hurry. You’ll miss your bus. Rachael pulled her hair back into a cream-colored tie. Quickly, she sipped the last tepid remains of her morning tea.

Coming, Mommy, Timmy called from the upstairs landing.

Retrieving her flute case and portfolio of sheet music, Rachael set them near the front door of their two-story brownstone apartment. A long day of practice at the concert hall lay ahead, to be followed by a quick fast-food dinner and an equally long and grueling night of the same, then a crowded bus ride home. Rachael released a long, exasperated breath. Another evening that Timmy would spend with Mrs. Evans, their landlord and babysitter, rather than herself.

Mommy, Timmy began. He paused as he pattered down the long flight of stairs that led from the upstairs hall, dragging his cumbersome backpack alongside him like a reluctant pup.

Rachael smiled. Need help with that? she asked, reaching out.

No! Timmy swung the pack over his shoulder, teetering slightly as the weight of it knocked his small frame off balance. Quickly, he steadied himself. See, I can do it. He smiled broadly. He was proud, but not nearly as proud as Rachael as she watched her independent son ready himself for another day of school.

Mommy, he began again, slightly breathless.

Yes?

What’s a saddalite?

"Satellite. It’s a small spaceship without people that collects information and takes pictures in outer space, then sends them back to earth to be studied."

Are they magic?

No, they’re scientific.

What’s that?

It means there’s no mystery about them. We know exactly how they work and what they do.

You do! Timmy eyed her with astonishment. How?

Well, I personally don’t know, but scientists do.

But the man on the radio said a saddalite fell from the sky and disappeared like magic over England. And they didn’t find hiderhare of it.

God! That happened at least six months ago—or more. Are they still talking about that?

Timmy nodded feverishly. Uh-huh. Then his brow furrowed in puzzlement. What’s that mean? Hiderhare? Was there a rabbit in it?

Rachael suppressed a giggle. "It’s hide nor hair. It means they haven’t found any part of it, not even the tiniest piece."

Ooohhh. So it disappeared like Whodeemi? That’s kinda magic, isn’t it? Cause he’s a magician.

"Houdini. And yes, kind of. But not really."

Don’t you believe in magic, Mommy?

Rachael sighed. She hadn’t believed in magic in years. Not true magic. "I believe that you’re going to miss your bus if we don’t hurry."

Aw, Maawn.

And remember, I’m going to be late tonight. I have to practice extra long for a very special concert. But I’ll absolutely come to your room and kiss you goodnight.

Do you have to practice? Timmy asked.

I’m afraid so. Rachael helped him slip into his jacket. Be good for Mrs. Evans when you get home from school, Rachael reminded Timmy.

Timmy grimaced. I’m always good for Mrs. Evans.

Rachael ruffled the golden silk of his hair, loving the soft feel of it as it slid through her fingers. I know, she said as she zipped his jacket closed.

Timmy smoothed down his hair, leveling her with a reproving glare that she dared to dishevel him, and just when the bus was due.

Rachael grinned at his growing independence and kissed his cheek. Through the picture window in her living room, her eye caught bright yellow movement down the street. The bus is coming. She patted his backside to set him on his way.

Suddenly Timmy’s eyes grew wide and flustered. Oh, wait. I forgetted somethin’. He dropped his pack and ran up the stairs.

Timmy! Rachael called out. You’re going to miss your . . .

Already he was descending the steep incline at a pace too quick for his small feet.

I getted it! he announced. He grabbed his backpack and headed for the front door.

"I got. And what did you get?"

Nuffin’, Mommy.

Tim-my, Rachael drawled. What did you get?

A horn blasted outside the brownstone. Timmy bounced excitedly on his sneakers. Mommy, I’m gonna be late, he huffed anxiously.

Okay, okay. Rachael ushered him out the door. I love you, she whispered, low and for Timmy’s ears only.

Timmy paused on the walkway steps. The brisk morning breeze ruffled his pale hair. The brilliant morning sun illuminated it. Turning, he smiled up at Rachael as she stood on the threshold watching him. Then he scampered for the bus. It was the same every morning. The pause, the smile. And it never failed to warm her heart.

Stepping back into the apartment, Rachael gathered her things, then began walking the busy street to her own bus stop, mentally preparing herself for the day. Shifting her load, she brushed at a group of unsightly wrinkles that had already begun to form in the soft cream linen of her skirt and suit jacket. When her bus pulled to a halt, she struggled through the door and up its three metal steps. She dropped several small coins into the change box. They fell with a melodious clatter.

Slowly, she made her way to the one available seat that rested between a woman wearing enough perfume to open her own refinery and a bedraggled man who hadn’t seen a shower in the better part of a month. The combination was enough to make her pass out. Holding her breath, she eased down onto the tattered cushion, tucking her flute case and portfolio safely between her feet and the seat. She glanced over her shoulder at the bedraggled man next to her. He was ogling her legs. Instinctively, she tugged on the hem of her skirt, which had somehow hiked up to mid-thigh.

Perv! She thought.

She definitely needed a car.

~*~

Good practice, wasn’t it? Samantha patted Rachael’s shoulder as they descended the lengthy stairs that led from the concert hall.

Could have been better, Rachael muttered.

Samantha paused in stride. It’ll get better, she assured Rachael. We still have two weeks of practice to go.

Two weeks, Rachael murmured, then sighed.

Samantha turned to face her friend. It’s not practice, is it?

Rachael shook her head.

Okay. Out with it, Samantha ordered. You’ve been acting weird all night. What’s bothering you?

Rachael forced a smile. It’s after ten. Timmy will be asleep by the time I get home. The only time I’ve spent with him today was an hour or so this morning. You know how I hate leaving Timmy with a sitter for so long a time, even if it is Mrs. Evans.

Yeah.

I guess I’m just anticipating the next two weeks. You know how it gets. Rachael sighed. I miss him already, Sam.

It’s only been a day, Sam teased, then added, But I don’t blame you. He’s the cutest thing this side of the city.

Hugging her violin case against her chest, she swooned theatrically. If only he were twenty years older.

Both women laughed.

Yeah, Rachael agreed. They just don’t make them like that after the age of five anymore.

They sure don’t. Samantha opened the back door of her car and set her instrument case on the seat. Closing the door, she turned to Rachael. Want a ride? She smiled that dentist-perfect smile that always made Rachael think Sam had missed her calling as a supermodel.

No, thanks.

Are you sure? Even after that stinking pervert eyed you up and down on the bus this morning?

Rachael bit her lip. Oh yeah, I’d nearly forgotten about that. She contemplated Sam’s offer. But as long as the pervs only look, I’ll be fine. It’s losing time with Timmy that’s the problem.

Sam threw her arms about her friend’s shoulders and gave her a reassuring hug. It’ll be over before you know it.

Rachael forced a smile. You’re right. She straightened her back. Think positive.

Now, about that ride home? Sam persisted.

No, really. Thanks. It’s out of your way and my bus will be here any minute. In fact, here it comes now.

Okay, be careful. Sam gave Rachael a sisterly hug. And watch out for those pervs, she teased.

Rachael gave her friend a gentle push toward her car. I will. Now get going. I’ll see you on Monday.

Sir! Yes, sir! Sam saluted Rachael before sliding behind the wheel of her car. Give that little hunk of yours a kiss from me.

You bet. Rachael took several steps toward the idling bus, admiring, with just a hint of envy, Sam’s free spiritedness and her careless manner of screeching tire as the small purple sports car tore out onto the main drag. She sighed heavily. It was how she wanted to be, carefree and full of spirit and fun. And she was, to a point. But she had responsibilities now. She had Timmy.