Page 45 of Christmas Magic

Chapter Eight

Staring straight ahead, arms at his sides, Lucian stood to the right of the bakery entrance. He’d waited steadfastly for a while now. Truth be told, he’d grown pretty bored, but he’d said he’d wait for Cora, and he’d not fail to do so.

A yawn tickled the back of his throat. What he would give for a hot drink: Coffee. The word materialized in his mind, along with an instinctive knowledge that coffee was the most marvelous morning elixir.

If only he could go into the bakery and buy a cup, but he’d have to leave his post, and he’d not neglect his duty.

Lucian studied the people walking past and the vehicles driving by on the street. The stodginess of his mind had eased a bit, and he knew the conveyances of various colors and shapes were called cars, not carriages or carts.

Somehow, just as he had knowledge of coffee, he knew about cars. He owned one. He drove one. But, he couldn’t remember how he knew about them. When he tried to search his memories, he saw images of stone castles surrounded by fields of wheat, knights clad in chain-mail armor, and the brightly colored tents of tournaments where warriors battled one another to determine who was the best in the realm in archery, jousting, and sword fighting.

A grin kicked up the corner of his mouth. Ah, but he’d enjoyed those events: the endless mugs of ale; the competitiveness; the beautiful maidens eager to catch a bold knight’s gaze. His gaze.

“—he’s right where we left him.” Roberta’s voice.

Of course, I am right where you left me. I am an honorable knight. I keep my word.

“He did say he’d wait.”

Cora, lovely Cora, clearly understood.

“Why does he look like he’s standing guard?”

“He mentioned keeping watch. Remember?”

Lucian faced them. Several men stood between him and the two older women, but the ladies immediately saw him, smiled, and waved.

He resisted waving back. Instead, he nodded. A knight on guard duty should not raise his hand to wave; not when he might need to swiftly draw his weapon.

Unease gnawed again. He must retrieve his broadsword as soon as possible. Last he remembered, he’d stowed the sheathed weapon under the counter in the store. He still couldn’t recall, though, why he didn’t have it at his hip now.

Also, where was Galahad? The squire should be with him.

Cora approached. Roberta had a bag draped over one arm. The bag looked large enough to hold a wolf’s pelt.

“That’s a curious expression, Lucian,” Cora cooed.

He truly hoped she wasn’t going to pat his cheek again.

“I was thinking of my sword, milady.”

“Your…sword?” Cora echoed.

“I find myself in a quandary. Here on the street may not be the most appropriate time or place to focus on my blade, but I cannot help myself.”

Roberta looked like she’d just swallowed a walnut, whole, and it had gotten stuck on the way down. Was she mocking him? He’d never jest about such a matter.

“I have a very fine sword,” he said firmly.

Cora’s lips eased into a saucy smile. “I’m sure you do.”

Roberta made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a giggle.

He did not like being a source of amusement.

“This sword of yours,” Cora murmured. “Is it…big?”

“I think ’tis.” He shrugged. “I am not one to compare mine with others.”