Kieran the Black was a notorious Norman Knight, who rumor has it, decapitated the heads of three Saxon soldiers with a single swipe of his sword-a sword that measured six and a half feet in size-the very height of the great warrior himself.
Six and a half feet! Lizzie smiled to herself and turned up the volume on the "audio tour" she had rented at the exhibition's front desk.
She, along with a dozen other journalists, had gained entrance into the coveted William the Conqueror exhibition two days before its scheduled opening to the public. Because she was a lover of all things medieval, and a member of the Society of Creative Anachronism (SCA), this assignment had been right up Lizzie's alley and she'd jumped at the chance to attend.
Now, standing before the relics of the ultimate warrior, Kieran the Black, Lizzie's heart gave a jolt. What would it have been like to be alive in the days of men like Kieran D'Arcy-when men were six and a half feet tall, and built like brick shithouses?
"Born 1036. Died 1067. You were only thirty-one," Lizzie said aloud, resisting the urge to run a finger over the fine gothic carving of the warrior's name on the marble plaque. Something about the Norman knight stirred her soul. Perhaps because at the age of seven he had left his impoverished family to serve as page to a ruthless knight who had physically and verbally abused him. Maybe that abuse had turned Kieran's heart black, earning him the name Kieran the Black. Maybe it had given him a warrior's mentality-kill or be killed.
"Would you like to see it?"
Startled, Lizzie turned to find an old woman with frizzy white hair and enormous blue eyes standing at her side. She took off the earphones. "Sorry?"
"Would you like to see it?" The old woman nodded toward the sword encased in one-inch thick glass. "The Black One's sword."
Lizzie glanced over her shoulder. Seeing no one else about, she turned back to the woman who wore a somber black suit and crisp white blouse-similar to the employee uniforms of the exhibit hall. "Do you work here?"
The woman smiled and pushed on the glass. The side popped open on invisible hinges. Lizzie lifted her brows but remained silent as the tiny woman lifted the battle-scarred sword with little effort and put it into her suddenly damp hands.
Lizzie faltered, but held fast. The sword was heavy. So heavy, it nearly brought her to her knees, and she stood five feet, six inches tall. The woman beside her couldn't be five foot even and she had managed the sword with one hand.
Lizzie could not believe her good fortune. She wanted more than anything to have the woman take a picture of her with the treasured piece, but didn't dare ask for fear of someone seeing the flash of the camera. With her luck the exhibit hall would somehow get a hold of the photo and she and her magazine would be banned from the UK.
The woman looked directly at Lizzie, her expression serious. "The Black One was not the bad man they make him out to be."
Lizzie nodded. "I know he wasn't bad. He couldn't help what he became."
"He was a product of his time. A mercenary who lived and died by the sword."
"That's so odd that you say that. I was just thinking the same thing. He was very much a product of his time. Oh, and then to be betrayed by his best friend. Now that is wrong on so many levels." The sword felt warm in Lizzie's hands, and with every passing second grew warmer.
The woman laughed lightly. "You know of The Black One then?"
Lizzie grinned, excited to have found someone who shared her enthusiasm for the knight. "Yeah, he fascinates me. I can't explain it, but-"
"There is a rumor that if you hold the sword in your hands like so," the woman placed her hands over Lizzie's, "And rest the point of the sword on the edge of any version of Kieran's crest-see the ridge that runs right down the middle? Set the point of the sword right there-and you will be able to experience life as you've never known it."
Okay, now she was getting freaked out. Lizzie turned to the woman, who watched her expectantly. She was about to ask if she was on Candid Camera when the woman nudged her. "Go ahead.give it a try."
Lizzie glanced over both shoulders and seeing the way clear, she did as the woman asked. She set the tip of the sword on the crest, right into the ridge.
"And now?" Lizzie asked, brows lifted high, waiting for a camera crew to jump out and shout "surprise".
The woman smiled, took a step back and said, "Have a nice trip."
La, la, la, la-la, la, la, la, la, lah.
The melody rang over and over in Lizzie's mind until she opened her eyes and yelled, "Enough already!" Silence met her outburst a second before a panel ripped open and a woman stared at her, eyes wide in excitement. "Milady, you are alive!"
Lizzie frowned. She lay in a four-poster bed with heavy drapes pulled all the way around-or had been pulled all the way around until the woman had yanked the drape open and daylight spilled into the room, nearly blinding her.
Dressed in a beautiful kirtle of green with a leather girdle reminiscent of the medieval era, the woman raced for the heavy wood door. "I will give the word!"
"What word?" Lizzie asked, taking in the room with a glance. The stark walls were interrupted by an enormous floral tapestry. Two chairs stood near a hearth where a fire blazed, heating the high-ceilinged room.
The woman stopped just shy of the door and turned. "I will give the word that you are well, milady. You have been abed ever since the attack. I have had to force food and drink down you for weeks now."
Lizzie sat up against the headboard. "The attack?"
The woman frowned, crossed the room and pressed a hand to Lizzie's forehead. "Do you not remember the siege?"
Lizzie shook her head. "Where am I?"
The woman looked pained. "I think that."
"Does this have to do with Kieran the Black?"
The woman gasped. "You remember then!"
Lizzie's heart skipped a beat. What had the old woman at the exhibition said? And rest the point of the sword on the crest and you will be able to experience life as you've never known it.
Life as you've never known it? She gave the room a once over. Could it be she had stepped back in time?
With heart pounding in her ears, Lizzie threw her legs over the side of the bed and flew toward the window. She pushed open the shutters and looked out. The manor house sat beside a river. In the distance, Lizzie could see the motte-and-bailey castle in the final stages of being built sitting high on a mound. The keep and numerous outbuildings filled a huge bailey, and around it, a large moat. Upon seizing England, the Normans had thrown up the wood structures to defend their newly acquired lands. In time the wooden fortresses would all become the gorgeous stone castles that still existed in her time.
Lizzie scanned the bailey and manor grounds looking for one man in particular. She had a feeling she would know the warrior at a glance. "Where is Kieran?"
"He is gone hunting, milady."
"Will he be back tonight?"
"Yes, milady. Shall I prepare a bath?"
Lizzie pinched herself. Feeling the tweak of her skin, she smiled. No, she wasn't dreaming. She was in 1066 or 1067, in the body of-
"Who am I?" she asked, wincing when the lady gasped.
"You are Lady Elizabeth of Aedelmaer, wife of the Baron D'Arcy." The woman squeezed Lizzie's hand. "I fear your father and your brother were not as fortunate. They did not live through the Battle of Hastings."
Lizzie's brain raced, trying to recall the history. Lord Aedelmaer and his eldest son had been killed in battle, leaving Elizabeth the only living descendent. Knowing this, Kieran had forced her into marriage. In turn, Elizabeth had taken to bed and willed herself to die.
That was then, this is now.
And Kieran the Black wouldn't know what hit him.
A wisp of blonde hair floated on the breeze and it took Lizzie a second to realize it belonged to her. Blonde hair? She had mousy brown hair with streaks of gray running through it-not pale, almost white hair.
Until now. Now she was the young Lady Elizabeth of Aedelmaer, wife of Baron D'Arcy, not thirty-nine year old Lizzie Johnson, ex-wife of Brent Johnson, small-pricked womanizer extraordinaire.
She chanced a glance down at her body and laughed under her breath. God, she had a kick-ass body-firm, full breasts, small waist and womanly hips. "What's your name?" Lizzie asked, looking over her shoulder at the woman.
The maid looked like Lizzie had struck her. "Mary, milady."
"Forgive me, Mary. I am having a hard time remembering."
Lizzie glanced past Mary's shoulder and saw a mirror-or rather a looking glass-that showed a blurred image of a young blonde.
Lizzie held her breath. Seeing her reflection, she let the breath out in a rush. "Yes!"
Elizabeth was eighteen if she was a day, with not a single blemish on her porcelain skin. Her every feature was sheer perfection, right down to the long blonde hair that fell in silky waves all the way to her tight round ass. She smiled to herself imagining what Brent would think if he could see her now.
Lizzie realized that the other occupant of the room might be confused by her reaction. She forced a straight face and turned to Mary. "I had a dream that The Black One had turned me into a middle-aged crone."
Mary looked relieved, and she smiled. "Milady, you are as beautiful as ever."
Life was good! She was young.and she was married to Kieran the Black. A shiver of excitement raced up her spine. She would see the warrior in the flesh. "Will you get my nicest gown for me?" She turned back to the mirror. "Maybe something blue to match my eyes."
There was not a single line on her face. She released a sigh and resisted the urge to dance around the room. Her fellow SCA members would not believe this.
* * * * *
Three hours later Lizzie was dressed in a light blue kirtle with gold embroidery and a gold girdle that hung low on her small hips. Ha! Small hips.that was a first!
She walked slowly toward the bailey, taking in everything around her. The wooden tower on the hill loomed above her. Men worked tirelessly on the structure, even in the waning light.
The wooden walls of the bailey stood at least ten feet tall and as she crossed the bridge, over the moat, several soldiers stopped at the bailey entrance and watched her, their expressions showing their surprise. Obviously they had not expected Lady Elizabeth to have made such a miraculous recovery after having been in bed for so long. She smiled and their brows lifted in response.
The bailey thrived with activity. The hall was the only building completely finished. Villagers and serfs worked side-by-side on a large stone structure that Mary told her would be the chapel. How strange that the craftsmen used crowbars, chisels, and trowels, just like they used in the future.
The heavenly smells coming from the baker's hut made her gravitate to the doorway.
"No, milady. We are already late," Mary said, pulling her out of the baker's hut.
Having been independent all her life, this having a hovering servant underfoot was something Lizzie would have to get used to.
Mary's hand rested on Lizzie's arm, guiding her out the door. "Milady, dinner has begun. Let us adjourn to the Great Hall."
The Great Hall was a large, two-story structure with enormous wood beams overhead. Impossibly large tapestries hung on the high walls. An enormous hearth with fire blazing sat in the middle of the room, providing warmth to the inhabitants. The room was alive with activity. Pages dressed in russet-colored tunics served dinner on large platters. Boisterous laughter reached out to her, luring her in. Music floated on the evening breeze, the soft melodic sound of a lute made Lizzie smile. She'd attended a medieval reenactment last summer with her fellow SCA members, and this seemed almost the same, except for the subtle difference that this was real.
Long tables sat in regimented rows and above them a single table where the lord of the manor sat with his higher-ups.
The lord of the manor sat there now. Lizzie's pulse skittered.
Kieran the Black.
He was magnificent. Broad shouldered, heavily muscled, with black hair, and fierce blue eyes-that were riveted on something across the hall. Ripping her gaze away from the gorgeous warrior, Lizzie turned to find what held his attention. A half-dressed redhead with full breasts covered by a tiny gold top, small waist, and long legs, belly-danced her way on a stage, her hips swaying provocatively to the appreciative audience.
Lizzie's stomach tightened. It seemed that men were all alike, no matter what the century. Had she been the Lizzie of old she would have bowed out gracefully, knowing she couldn't compete with the likes of the belly dancer. But she was the new Lizzie, and by damned she wanted Kieran D'Arcy.
Well, if she was to compete with the belly dancer, she had to get serious. Lizzie put her hand to her stomach and yanked on the material, effectively pulling the gown down so a good deal of cleavage swelled above the bodice.
Man it felt good to have young, firm breasts.
Since dinner had already started, she had two choices: she could easily slip onto one of the benches at the lower table and watch the goings-on, or she could go out of her way to get noticed.
She looked at Kieran.her husband. A more manly man there could never be. He positively screamed rugged masculinity. A shiver of excitement raced through her. As though sensing her perusal he abruptly turned her way. Their gazes locked, and Lizzie sucked in a breath.
And nearly choked on it.
Kieran's hot gaze slid down her body, slow, like a deliberate caress. She lifted her chin and the warrior's lips twitched. He stood, his height shocking her. Geez-he really was six and a half feet tall. She smiled despite her effort not to.
