Chapter Six

Isolde had been right about them knowing the way to Langdon. Lana found herself instinctively guiding her mount down a well-traveled path through the forest, unsure of how she knew where she was going but positive she was heading in the right direction. Sure enough, the trees soon thinned out to reveal a lush, verdant clearing, at the center of which rose Langdon Castle.

"Wow," she murmured, unprepared for the spectacle before her, despite studying the professor's illustrations. The crumbling stone walls now stood proud and stately, colorful pennants hanging from the ramparts and rippling in the wind. They bore a vibrant blue-and-gold heraldry depicting a falcon with its wings spread. A grand drawbridge spanned the silvery waters of the moat, which lapped placidly at the castle's outer walls.

In front of the castle stood a large open field. Lana watched as a knight, astride a horse as huge as Clark's and holding a lance, charged toward a sort of pole with a crossbeam. Attached to one end of the crossbeam was a shield, on the other hung a sack. The knight charged, expertly striking the shield and clearing the device before the sack knocked him from the saddle. Metal clashed against metal as a pair of teenage boys, probably squires, engaged in a spirited fencing match. Lana had a feeling those swords weren't blunted.

"This would be the lists," Gillian informed them. "Knights and squires practice their fighting here. This is also where tournaments are held."

To the side of the castle stood the village. It was similar to the professor's drawing, except that the wall that surrounded it was noticeably taller. Gillian led them to the gate, where a mail-clad guard lounged lazily, looking bored. He straightened up upon their approach.

"Ah, Lady Lianne, Lady Anne. Enter."

Lana nodded her acknowledgement, trying to look regal. She, Gillian, and Clark filed through the gate into the village.

The street was crowded and noisy, and none too clean, either. Mud squelched beneath the horses' hooves, and the stench of manure and refuse was almost overpowering. Swine wandered freely about. Shops lined the streets, including a blacksmith, tailor, barber, furrier, and shoemaker. They also passed a tavern, public fountain, and bath house. Further along they came upon a sort of open market, where several booths had been set up and merchants hawked their wares.

After passing through the village, the three of them came to the drawbridge. People passed in and out of the castle, and the sentries did not seem to pay them any heed. Clark, Lana, and Gillian entered without so much as a "Halt! Who goes there?"
As they passed through the gate, Lana glanced up at the huge portcullis, made of iron and not wood as the professor's illustration depicted. Razor-sharp spikes glinted perilously above their heads, and she could not help but move quickly out from underneath them.
They entered the outer bailey, which was every bit as bustling as the village. Then they passed through yet another gate to the innermost part of the castle, where the keep, chapel, and Great Hall stood.

Lads immediately came out to greet them, taking their mounts to the stables after they had dismounted. Lana started to swing down from her horse when she saw Clark standing in front of her, his hand outstretched.

"Some assistance, milady?" he asked.

She could not help but return his smile. "Why thank you, kind sir." As he lowered her to ground, her body brushed up against him ever so lightly. Yet the brief contact was enough to ignite a shower of sparks upon her skin, and to her horror she thought she might be blushing. Damn it. She was still shaken up from that morning. Whether the reason was her near-death experience or the moment with Clark afterward, she could not tell.

But she had a sneaking suspicion the latter had a lot to do with it.
He seemed to notice her discomfort, for he pulled away quickly, following her and Gillian awkwardly into the Great Hall.

"This is amazing," Lana murmured upon entering. It was a huge room, with a high ceiling and exposed wooden beams overhead. Resplendent tapestries adorned the walls, their vibrant colors striking and radiant against the gray stone. Aunt Lily's tapestry must've looked like this once, Lana reflected. The tapestries were interwoven with silver and gold threads, which glinted the sunlight that filtered through high glazed windows. The glass was nothing like modern glass. The surface was wavy and irregular, throwing the light in odd patterns upon the hall's interior.

A plump, round-faced matron scuttled toward them--a servant, judging by her plain clothing. "Welcome home, milady. Dinner will be served shortly."

"Thank you," Lana said with a smile. The woman smiled back, looking a little confused.

"Go to the table up there," Gillian said out of the side of her mouth, nodding toward a stout wooden table at the opposite end of the Great Hall. It stood atop a raised dais, overlooking all the other tables in the room.

Lana did as Gillian instructed. As they walked across the room, their feet crunched over a sort of mat constructed of stout grass and various herbs. At one point, it might have been pleasant-smelling, but now the grass was dirty and reeked of rotting food. To Lana's revulsion, she spotted a discarded bone lying on the floor. The bone was promptly snatched up by one of the hounds lounging about.

"Dang, this place is suffering without its lady," Gillian muttered.

"My apologies, milady," said the servant solicitously. "The servants have grown lazy in your absence. I'll get rid of the hounds at once. The rushes will be replaced on the morrow."

"Could you? That would be nice," Lana said politely. Once again, the woman looked confused, then quickly scurried off.

"Lana, they're your servants… or should I say Lianne's servants," Gillian told her. "You're supposed to order them around, not ask them to do their jobs."

It felt weird to be ordering servants around. Maybe she should've spent more time at the Luthor mansion.

"It's kind of early to be serving dinner," Clark remarked.

"How could you tell? I have no idea what time it is," Lana said, referring to the conspicuous absence of clocks or any kind of timekeeping device.

"The medievals took their big meal in the middle of the day," Gillian explained. "Supper was a small and simple meal, kind of like lunch is in modern times."

Dinner was, to say the least, an interesting experience. A huge amount of people--servants, knights, and ladies--filed into the hall and completely filled all of the tables. And the amount of food was staggering. The meal was served in several courses, which included a vast array of dishes--meats, cheeses, wafers, cakes, cookies, jellies, and puddings. Gillian was the most adventurous, spooning up generous helpings without batting an eye. Clark and Lana were more hesitant, but in the end, hunger won over, and they partook liberally. It helped that their only beverage was spiced wine, which, after a couple of glasses, loosened everyone's inhibitions. One of the strangest parts of the meal was that there were no forks! Lana tried to make do with a knife and spoon, but soon noticed that many of the other diners ate with their hands. Well, when in Rome… she thought, doing away with the knife and spoon altogether.

"Oh, man, I'm stuffed," Gillian groaned when the meal was over.

"You're telling me," Clark said. "At least you don't have to get on your horse and ride all the way back to Blackwood, wherever the heck that is."

"Do you have to go now?" Lana spoke up, surprised by the earnestness of her tone. "Can't you stay a while?"

"I'd like to, but I don't want to be out there when it gets dark," Clark answered. "Besides, I don't want to risk getting on Lothar's bad side. I've got a bad feeling about that guy."

Lana had to agree. He seemed like a first-class creep to her. "You're probably right. I just hate the idea of us being separated. I'd feel safer if we all stuck together." Somehow, being trapped in an unfamiliar and dangerous world didn't seem so bad when he was with her.

And it seemed so much lonelier and more frightening without him.

"I know, but with things as they are, we don't have much of a choice," Clark told her. "Don't worry. I'm sure you and Gillian will be safe behind these walls."

"It isn't just us I worry about," Lana said, still not fully convinced. "What if you run into more of those routiers?"

"I think Lothar's knights pretty well vanquished them, at least for now. Relax… I'll be fine." He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "If this Kendrick guy had the rep I think he did, I doubt anyone would want to mess with him."

Lana wished she could feel as optimistic as Clark seemed to. And she wished she were not so acutely aware of the heat of his hand on her shoulder, burning right through all the layers of fabric.

"I'll be back as soon as I can. Then we'll figure out how to get home again, OK?" They lingered for a moment before he stepped back and made a gallant bow. "Until we meet again, my Lady."

She laughed. "Fare thee well, Sir Kendrick."

He took her hand and brought it to his lips. There was no ignoring the jolt of electricity that raced through her. She could've sworn he lingered over her hand a second longer than he needed to, but maybe it was just wishful thinking.

And then the moment was over. She watched as he threw a final grin over his broad shoulder, and then strode out of the Great Hall.

"He's got a nice little arse in those hose, eh?" Gillian joked, materializing at Lana's side.

Lana nearly jumped. "Um, yeah, I guess."

"Clark Kent is most definitely gifted in the butt department."

"I think I need more wine." Lana retreated to the table.

Gillian merely gazed after her, amusement dancing in her odd-colored eyes.

And Lana sincerely hoped the warmth in her face was because of the wine.

The afternoon shadows deepened into misty twilight as Clark rode through the forest. At least the old lady hadn't steered him wrong. He was pretty sure he was headed in the right direction, although how much farther he had to go he wasn't sure. He wondered if Blackwood would be as comfortable and welcoming as Langdon. Somehow he doubted it. But at least it was someplace other than a horse's back. He had been riding so many hours, his back was getting stiff and he was pretty sure his butt had fallen asleep a long time ago. Oh, how he longed for the plush, cushioned seats in his truck.

He supposed he should've been thankful that so far, the ride had been uneventful. But that also made it mind-numbingly boring. His mind tended to wander, far too often in the direction of how amazing Lana looked in that gown. How she could look sexier under yards of fabric than in a swimsuit, he didn't know. Or how the way she looked at him when he kissed her hand, tentative and almost shy, was far more tempting than her Nicodemus-induced sexpot act. Even after all this time, she still got him with the subtlest of movements, glances, or touches. And it seemed he was getting to her, too.

Hey, we've been down this road before, he warned himself. What was happening between them didn't necessarily mean anything. It was natural to turn to each other, given the bizarre and frightening situation. Or perhaps some of Lianne and Kendrick's feelings were rubbing off on them. Seeing how they'd somehow switched places with the couple, it was a distinct possibility.

Whatever the reason, he couldn't give in to it. His heart was finally on the mend. He wasn't going to undo it all in one moment of weakness.

By now, twilight had darkened into evening, and the forest came alive with nighttime sounds. Crickets chirped. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted. A small animal scurried about in the underbrush.

Out in the forest somewhere, something else rustled.

Clark continued riding, giving no outward side that anything was amiss. But his hand inched toward the hilt of his sword as he listened closely.

A twig snapped. Something--or someone--was definitely following him. His hand closed over the hilt of his sword, every muscle in his body tensed.

It looked like his journey was about to get more interesting.

Lana and Gillian whiled away the afternoon by going on a walk through the castle, during which Gillian pointed out everything she knew about it. Lana mentally noted the location of all the important places, particularly the garderobe.

Afternoon became evening, and Lana and Gillian retired to a room Gillian called the solar. The solar was the medieval equivalent of the modern living room. During the day, it would have been cheerful and airy, with a large glazed window and elegant window seat. But at night, it was dark and shadowy, lit only by torches in sconces on the wall.

Lana didn't know what to do with herself. She paced about the room, unable to calm her restless thoughts. Meanwhile, Gillian rummaged around in a small and beautifully carved wooden chest. She eventually produced what looked like a half-finished tapestry and sank down on a chair, needle glinting in the flickering light as she stitched.

"You're doing embroidery?" Lana asked.

Gillian shrugged. "I might as well. There's nothing else to do."

So this is how people entertained themselves before TV, Lana reflected.
"My stitches aren't nearly as nice as Lady Anne's. I hope she doesn't freak out when she sees it."

Lana chuckled, sinking down in the chair next to Gillian's. "I was never one for needlepoint. I probably gave my home ec teacher nightmares."
Gillian laughed. "My mum taught me embroidery. I imagine she was none too pleased to see me running around with a plastic sword all the time, so she wanted to teach me something ladylike."

It was the first time Gillian had mentioned her mother. "Is your Mom in Smallville? Or did she stay in England?"

Gillian shook her head. "She died when I was twelve. Leukemia. Dad and I sort of saw it coming for a while, but it didn't make it any easier."

"I'm so sorry," Lana told her.

"It's OK. It was a long time ago. But every now and then, I still get out a needle and thread and make something pretty. It's sort of how I keep her with me, you know?"
Lana nodded, rather familiar with the feeling herself. "I know. My parents were killed in the meteor shower when I was little. For a long time I kept a fragment of the meteor rock, and I had it made into a necklace."

"Really?" Gillian asked. "Do you still wear it?"

"No… but I have it in a jewelry box at home."

Gillian seemed to understand. "It's interesting, how we all have some kind of story. Well, except for Clark. I met his parents only briefly, but they seem like lovely people."

"They are," Lana agreed. "But they're not his birth parents. He's adopted."

Gillian arched a golden eyebrow. "Really. Looks like all three of us have a story, then."

"Yeah," Lana agreed. "Just like Lianne… and Kendrick, the mystery man."

"Clark's a bit of a mystery himself, isn't he?"

"I guess you could say that."

"Which reminds me, I meant to ask you something I've been thinking about all day," Gillian remarked. "When we were being attacked by routiers, I remember ducking behind the tree while you were stranded on that log. I looked up literally a moment later and there he was, both of you safely on the other side. What happened?"

Lana had experienced so many similar incidents with Clark, she had given up trying to figure it out. "You know what? I honestly couldn't tell you. Everything is just kind of a blur."

"Oh… I see." Gillian seemed mollified. "I'd probably feel the same way myself."

The two of them lapsed into silence, Gillian stitching while Lana fingered one of the intricately embroidered pillows sitting on the chair. Suddenly Gillian looked up and asked, "Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

They'd already shared quite a bit of personal information, so Lana couldn't see any reason why not. "What is it?"

"You and Clark… were you ever…?" The sentence trailed off.

A brief hesitation. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, I have eyes," was Gillian's dry response. "I see the way you two act around each other. The sexual tension blows Dawson and Joey right out of the water."

Lana appeared to develop an intense fascination with the pillow. "Clark and I have a history, but now we're just friends."

"I see." Gillian didn't sound convinced. "I always sensed there was something between you two. I admit that for a while I thought he fancied me, but no more than most boys do--as a decent-looking bird to bide some time with until true love comes along."

"Gillian, you're selling yourself short," Lana objected. "I'm sure there are tons of guys out there in love with you."

"Thanks, but it's all right," Gillian assured her. "I figure there are two kinds of girls in this world. There's the kind boys have some fun with, make a few great memories, but they know she's not The One. And then there's the kind they never really get over. That's what you are, Lana."

Lana regarded her doubtfully. "Really?"

"Really." Gillian resumed her stitching. Lana fell silent as well, and for a while the only sounds were the crackling of the torches and the distant chirping of crickets. Lana wondered if what Gillian had said about girls was also true about guys. If it was, there was no doubt in her mind which type Clark was.

Finally Lana got up and opened the chest Gillian had been looking through. "I think I'll give this needlepoint thing a whirl. Maybe you could help me out? I warn you, though--I'm in sad shape."

Gillian grinned. "Nothing I can't handle."

And so the two of them sat side-by-side, stitching, until the torches burned low and they retired to their respective chambers.