Chapter Two

No! No-no! NOOOO!

Dizziness assails me. I'm going to faint! It was so unfair!

I was staring at the twin of my dead husband and lover from two different periods in

history. It was a shock when I saw my Trojan Prince's face on the Senator, Brixtius, in the Roman

whorehouse. I assumed at the time I ran into Senator Brixtius, it was a coincidence! Now I know

for sure the fairies were honestly fucking with me!

The man on the horse had the same beautiful blue-green eyes and facial features I had

intimately studied time and again when I was with Brixtius and Braxius. High cheekbones, a

straight nose with a firm jawline-fucking gorgeous.

"Had you forgotten your manners, boy?" The rider demands. There was a flare of anger in

his blue-green eyes, his jaw set, clenching back and forth. Uh? What?

I glance over to Sir Hubert, and the man was bowing. Oh shit!

Following Sir Hubert's lead, I bow, keeping my face towards the ground.

"Rise, Page," the rider commands. "We do not have all day." Shit! Why does he have to

sound like them too?!

My head lifts, and I try to keep my eyes averted, not wanting to stare at the man on the

horse. I can sense the rider's eyes were upon me, studying me intently. To my annoyance, my

nipples harden underneath the binding. The man still affects me!"

"You hit well today, my lord," Sir Hubert interjects. "Your new personal page," he adds,

indicating to me.

"The lad is skin and bones," the lord states coldly, putting a damper on my raging libido.

"Will he survive the long marches to the battles and jousts?" I must be smaller than the average

boy here? In the Middle Ages, a man's average height is at least five-seven or five-eight. I am

five-foot-four, which means I am taller than most women in this era.

"He survived the journey here from across the water, he can survive the road, my lord,"

Sir Hubert responds.

Across the water? I'm either in Normandy or England. Who is the current King of

England?

I took a semester of Medieval English History in school, and I enjoyed learning about the

English Kings and Queens, including the interesting economic turns that happened during the

period, like the Peasant Revolt.

"Look at me, boy," the man on the horse commands. I do as he bids, and I still cannot get

over the resemblance. Since I was allowed to gaze at him unabashedly, I study his every feature.

The only difference between this man and my men before is the long, brown hair falling to his

shoulders. Long hair on men is the fashion of the time. That and codpieces. Yuck!

"What's your name, Page?" The lord questions.

"Jess-Jesse," I stammer out, catching myself from saying my girl's name. The fairies

wanted me to play the boy, and I was sticking with the program.

"Jesse? An odd name." I don't bother to reply. "Can you read or write?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Well, there is one thing in your favor then, boy," he huffs. "I have no choice at present.

My last page died of disease over a month ago. You will do. Grab my reins, boy."

I glance at Sir Hubert, not sure what to do. The older man places his hand on my

shoulder, gently pushing me towards the massive horse: a knight's warhorse, an animal trained to

stomp and kill men caught under their iron hooves.

The horse of the cursed doppelganger was at least nineteen hands high and was pawing

the ground. Both ears were lying back, and the stallion was bearing his teeth--a demonstration of

hostility. Thank you, mom and dad, for the horseback riding lessons!

The warning is loud and clear, halting my steps, and I begin to hum a lullaby softly. The

horse's ears are now flicking back and forth, listening to the song. I take a small step forward and

another, still humming, until I am close enough to grab the reins under the horse's chin. I slowly

raise my hand to rub the horse's nose, letting him take in my scent.

"I'll be damned," both the lord and Sir Hubert state at the same time.

I keep humming and petting horse, while the lord dismounts next to me. "No one besides

me has ever been able to touch Brimstone," the lord murmurs while understanding smacks me.

The man was testing me.

"Brimstone," I stop humming, repeating the horse's name. "Extremely fitting, but you are

just a big baby who needs to be cooled off and fed?" I coo. The horse nods his head up and down

as if in agreement.

"Okay, Page," the lord sighs. "Cool him and see he gets plenty of oats."

"Yes, my lord," my voice betraying my excitement of taking care of the horse.

"This way, Page," Sir Hubert states, and starts to walk, while I follow with Brimstone.

The activity in the streets had increased with people hurrying to their destinations--however, the

crowd parts for us, all attention on me. I keep walking, ignoring the astounded expressions. We

reach the barn, and Sir Hubert stares at me like I was an anomaly.

"You earned the Duke's respect today," he tells me. "Bryce Plantagenet rarely gives

someone his respect so quickly. He makes his subjects earn his regard over time. But you were

able to perform a miracle because that horse was like his master. Moody. Take off the saddle and

wash Brimstone down," Sir Hubert finishes.

"Yes, Sir Hubert."

I tend to the animal, washing him down and letting him dry in the courtyard while all the

Duke's household and staff gave me wide-berth. I guess these people recognize the horse's

temperament.

The moment of freedom gave me time to figure out the century. Sir Hubert mentioned the

Duke's name, Bryce Plantagenet, cluing me that I was somewhere after the 12th Century.

King Henry II of England was considered the first Plantagenet King of England. He

inherited the throne through his mother, Matilda. Henry was most notable for the murder of Saint

Thomas Becket; and also sired his two infamous sons, King Richard the Lionheart and King

John. However, Henry had many children, most born in bastardy, with many who live to

adulthood.

Bryce Plantagenet's blazons on his shield indicate his family was recognized as part of

the English royal family. He also had the royal signal of the French monarchy with the fleur-de-

lis. Bryce Plantagenet, therefore, was doubly royal.

Brimstone nickers, interrupting my insight on English royal history. He butts his head

against my legs. The horse's signal for me to walk him to the barn.

Once inside the stall, I pick up clean hay, and I start to rub the horse's red coat, making it

shine. I make the horse lift each of his hooves so that I can remove all the compacted dirt from

the tiltyard, and finally giving him the bucket of oats he desperately wanted.

I leave Brimstone as he munches through his meal, not caring about the world around

him. Sir Hubert arrives when I am closing the stall door.

"All done, Page?" Sir Hubert requests.

"Yes, Sir Hubert. Brimstone was washed, brushed, his hooves cleaned, and currently

eating his oats."

"Good. Clean the saddle and then find me when you finish."

"Yes, Sir Hubert."

He leaves, and I pick up the saddle Sir Hubert left on the wooden pommel horse. I find

cloth and oils to clean the leather, and I sit on a small wooden stool, wiping away the caked dirt--

the oils bringing a subtle shine to the saddle. I work on the stirrups and the buckles, making the

metal also glimmer.

The work was tedious, but it helps me formulate an idea on how to find my bearings

since I do not know if I was in France or England. The Middle Ages was notorious for the One-

Hundred Years War and The Black Death.

The fairies would dump me in a middle of a war on the eve of the Bubonic Plague! And

bumping into the twin of my two previous lovers, I was most assuredly up the river without a

paddle!

I continue cleaning the saddle until I was pleased with my work, placing the gleaming

tack back on the pommel horse, and leaving the barn to find Sir Hubert.

First, I visit his office and discover the room is empty. Next, I go to the training yard, and

Sir Hubert is watching Bryce Plantagenet practicing his sword skills against another opponent in

a small ring. Both men were padded, and the sword blades were dulled for safety reasons.

I stand a few feet behind Sir Hubert and clear my throat.

"Finished your chore, boy?" The older man not turning his attention away from the

fighting men.

"Yes, Sir Hubert," tiredness is creeping into my voice. It has already been a long day, and

the sun is still high overhead.

"Follow me." Sir Hubert leaves the fighting men, but Bryce Plantagenet catches a

glimpse of me, causing him to make a mistake, and his opponent seizes on the flaw, whacking

Bryce on the side. The hit infuriates Bryce as he goes on the offensive, hitting the padded man at

every opportunity. Bryce makes short work of his opponent and glances back to glare at me. Oh

shit! I'm gone!

I turn and swiftly catch up to Sir Hubert, not daring to glance back at the sword ring, and

I can sense Bryce's heated stare on my back. We stop a few yards away, in front of the archery

targets. Sir Hubert grabs a bow as tall as I am and hands it to me.

I was lucky enough to attend summer camps when I was little and had the pleasure of

playing with the camp bow and arrow sets. I was a perfect shot too!

I pull on the string of the bow to test the tension-and man! It was tough to drawback. The

height of the bow makes me realize I was handling an English long-bow, a weapon notorious for

power, distance, and accuracy.

I learned in my Medieval History course the Kings of England forbade their subjects in

playing in other pastimes besides archery. The reason was the bow takes tremendous strength to

draw. When there was a need for archers in battle, the English lower classes were prepared to fire

non-stop bolts at the charging enemy.

"Here, boy," and Sir Hubert hands me an arrow. I knock the arrow and pull back as hard

as I can, scarcely drawing the string to my ear. I brace my other arm against the wooden bow,

pushing forward, my muscles straining. I let the arrow loose, and it doesn't even reach the target.

Not even close. Shit.

"Hmmmph," Sir Hubert grunts. "It is obvious you didn't do much training on the

Continent."

"Yes, Sir Hubert," I mumble, hiding my pleasure in discovering my current location.

England.

"We will fix your shortcomings. Again," the old knight commands.

The muscles in my arms are killing me! I practice with the bow for about an hour when

Sir Hubert takes pity on me and grants me a break.

Servants brought the midday meal consisting of bread, cheese, and warm mead. Mead, a

honeyed beer made to be sweet and refreshing, and I was grateful Sir Hubert was allowing me a

few moments of respite.

My body was covered with sweat with beads of perspiration trickling underneath the

bindings that were holding in my boobs. The makeshift bra was soaked from the warming noon-

day sun and the exertion to try hitting the damn target! I was looking forward to tonight, where I

might be able to sneak a quick bath.

"How is the twig holding up, Sir Hubert?" Bryce Plantagenet is walking up to us. He had

changed into his everyday lordly clothing with a fresh satin tunic and hose. I can't say the style

doesn't suit him, because damn! His appearance makes him even more handsome after washing

away the grime from this morning's exercises.

Bryce's hair was combed back and shiny, falling gracefully to his shoulders, accentuating

the outline of the muscles barely hidden beneath the tunic. The man regally carried himself,

telling all that he was the lord of the castle.

My stomach clenches and the place between my legs begin to heat as I keep watching

Bryce. It is so uncanny how he mirrors like my last two lovers. I grasp I am going to have a hard

time keeping my attraction for him at bay.

"He will grow stronger, my lord," Sir Hubert replies. I blush in embarrassment for my

lack of strength to pull the long-bow. If I were in my own time, I would show you what this "twig"

can do!

I keep eating, ignoring the two men as they discuss other things. I was too tired to listen

to the tedious talks about the logistics on when and how the Duke's household will leave for the

King's tourney in London in two weeks. I will simply go with the flow.

Instead, I stare into the far distance, wishing I was back home with my parents and my

younger sister, Meena. She was with me on the fairy hill, and I had been praying every day she

wasn't sucked through the time portal like I was. My sister and I were considered "Irish twins"

born less than a year apart. We were profoundly close, and I miss our conversations and her

bubbly spirit.

"Page!" Bryce's voice is pulling me back into the present. I sigh, realizing my "lunch

break" is over, and I stand to bow to the Duke formerly.

"Yes, my lord?" Not looking forward to my next task.

"Come with me," Bryce commands, turning on his heel and walks towards the castle.

Nothing to do but to follow him.