Chapter Nineteen

"Mercy, sir!" The boy panted, swaying backwards in time to dodge another swipe. "Please… I can't take it anymore!"

"Think you can say that in battle?" Clark gave another swipe with his sword, neatly disarming his squire, who shrank back in horror upon finding a blade quivering at his throat. "Your foe cares not how tired you are. Cry mercy and he'll only slit your throat slower."

Ralph gulped, his throat bobbing against the perilous blade. He seemed at a loss for words.

"Good God, Kendrick, what are you doing to the poor boy?" A willowy blonde strode over, hands folded over her chest while the wind stirred the stray face-faming strands that had escaped from her long braid.

"Can't you see he's exhausted?" she asked. "What's crawled up your arse this morning, anyway?"

He returned her scowl with an even darker one of his own. "Such language hardly befits a lady."

"Cut the crap, Kendrick. This is the lists, not a court ball."

Ralph regarded Gillian with round eyes.

"Go on, boy," Gillian dismissed him. "Take a rest. Wash up. You'll need to help with dinner soon, anyway."

Regarding her with the dumbfounded expression that seemed permanently etched in his dirt-smeared face, the squire beat a hasty retreat.

"Now are you going to tell me what your deal is, or do I have to beat it out of you?" Gillian demanded once they were alone.

Clark looked at her in amazement. She had some nerve. He was already in a foul mood, and the last thing he wanted to do was deal with Gillian. "I'm really not in the mood right now."

"Well, tough. We're going to talk about it and you're not walking away."

"Think you can stop me?" he demanded, but his heart wasn't in it.

Gillian drew her sword, apparently taking him seriously. "Then let's have it out. I win, you talk. I lose, we don't."

"I don't want to fight you, Gillian."

"Why, afraid you'll hurt me?" She smirked. "We'll see how those CK-model pecs stand against seven years of fencing experience."

That caught him off-guard. "You think I have pecs like a—"

His question was instantly cut off by the flash of Gillian's sword as it cut straight toward him. Instinctively he threw up his own sword, their blades meeting with a resounding clash. Thus began the match. For all his furious energy, Clark found himself repeatedly foiled by Gillian, who dodged, ducked, and parried with a seemingly innate grace. Her position was spot-on perfect as she lunged and thrust, her blade catching a vulnerable spot and cutting a long slash in his tunic. Of course, he wasn't using his powers, but even so, she was giving him a run for his money.

"Come on, Clark," she goaded. "Don't hold back. Give me all you got."

"I don't think you want me to do that."

Their blades crashed and locked, their faces hovering less than a foot apart. "Think I can't handle it?" Gillian mocked.

"I think you don't know what you're saying."

"I think I know exactly what I'm saying." She drew back, moving in for another attack with lighting-quick reflexes. He caught her just in time, blocking the blow and sending her reeling backwards.

She recovered quickly. "What's the matter, Kent? What are you afraid of?"

"Come on, Gillian, quit messing around," he said. "This is stupid---gaaah!"

Her blade whistled past his ear in a silver flash, severing a lock of his hair. He dodged aside just in time. "Goddamnit, Gillian!"

"Well, are you going to cease with this gentleman bullshit already and fight me?" she retorted.

He was starting to get ticked. She wanted a fight? She had one! Obviously, he wouldn't use his powers, but he was sure that even without them he could wipe that smirk off her face. He lunged. She saw it coming and parried. On and on the battle went, with Gillian slowly being driven back toward the fence. Her back brushed the wood as their blades met in one last clash. Twisting his blade in the exact way she had taught him, Clark efficiently disarmed her. But her blade had not yet hit the ground when she whipped her dagger out from under her belt. The blade landed at his throat at the very same instant his sword came to a quivering stop at hers.

She smirked. "So who wins?"

"I guess it's a draw." Grudgingly, he lowered his sword.

Gillian was unruffled. "You're not bad, Kent… at fencing anyway."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

"Just that it's quite clear to me that for all of your talents, you're a piss-poor liar. I know something's up. You wanna tell me what's going on, or should I?"

"Please, enlighten me," he said mockingly, even though he'd probably end up regretting it.

"I know about you and Lana," Gillian told him. "She doesn't know I was awake, but I saw her sneak back into our room last night. I heard her crying. Three guesses where she was and with whom, and the first two don't count."

Lana was crying? Feeling suddenly sick, Clark turned away.

But Gillian wasn't about to back down. "So I'm wondering, what is with you men that a good lay never fails to bring out the inner arsehole? Buffy sure had it right when Angel turned evil as soon as he got some happy."

"Not to be rude or anything, but this is between me and Lana."

"Oh, please, if I left it up to you it'd be the year 2050 before anything was accomplished," was her sarcastic reply. "Avoidance thy name is man. You boys will never talk directly about anything without a swift kick in the arse, and since Lana's too nice to do the honors I'll just have to do it for her."

"You really think you have men figured out, don't you?"

"Am I wrong in any of this?"

"What if I tell you I never meant to hurt her?" he demanded. "What if I tell you it was for her own good?"

"Yeah, you're doing her a lot of good now," Gillian countered. "She loves you, Clark. All she wants from you is the truth. Is that too much to ask?"

"I just… I need more time," he faltered.

"Time for what? For her to get sick of your bullshit and move on? You must be a real stallion in the sack, because I can't think of any other reason why she's sticking around."

"Is that what you think?" he shot back "There's more to a relationship than sex, Gillian. Or is that all your relationships were ever about?"

She held up her hands. "Whoa. That was seriously uncool."

He sighed. "I'm sorry, Gillian. You're right. I was out of line. It's just… you wouldn't understand."

"You're right, I don't understand." She fixed him with a hard stare. "Do you guys watch too many Meg Ryan movies or what? Love isn't some cutesy, scripted thing. You don't say all the right lines at the right time. Love is dark, ugly and messed-up. You have to be willing to get down and dirty. You have to lay all of yourself out on the line, not just the smart witty part that says all the right things but the screwed-up, messy, dysfunctional part that is the personality equivalent of how you look first thing in the morning without any makeup and uncombed hair. One of these days, Lana's going to see you without makeup." A funny expression came over her face. "Wait, that didn't come out right. But you know what I mean."

Clark was silent for a moment, running his fingers down the flat of his blade and studiously avoiding Gillian's eyes.

"I know I'm hardly the most qualified person to give love advice, seeing as I'm the poster girl for dysfunctional relationships," Gillian continued. "But all those mistakes I'm accusing you of making… I made them, too. I never fell in love with any of the guys I was with. I did everything in my power not to. I left someone behind in England because I wasn't ready for it yet… wasn't ready for him to see the real me. I'm not always the cool, collected chica you see right now." She gave a dry smile. "The problem is, it eventually catches up to you. You not only destroy the relationship but you slowly destroy yourself."

For a moment he just stood there, letting her words sink in. "But what if I can't do that… let her see what I've kept secret for so long?" he asked after a moment.

"Then you don't deserve her," Gillian said softly.

She lingered a moment, the hardness fading from her eyes long enough to view him with an odd, almost sympathetic expression. Such a damaged boy, she thought. What ugly secrets are hiding behind that beautiful face?

Then she turned and walked away, leaving him standing in the lists, alone with his thoughts.

"A message from Lord Blackwood," the messenger announced, standing stiffly in the middle of Bedford's Great Hall.

Lana's wine goblet crashed to the floor. Blood-red drops spattered on the skirt of her peach silk gown, but she barely noticed. Even as a page hastened over to mop up the mess, she was immobilized as he hovered about her feet.

"Give it to me," Bedford ordered.

The messenger made his way over and passed him the rolled-up parchment. Bedford broke the seal and unrolled it, anger creeping over his features as he scanned the missive.

"What is it?" Gillian asked, both anticipating and dreading the answer.

"During the battle, some of Blackwood's men saw Kendrick running off with the lady," Bedford said. "He knows you're here. He calls Kendrick a coward, challenging him to fight like a man. Kendrick is to meet him at the lists outside of Langdon at dawn two days from now. They will duel, with the lady as the prize."

Oh, God. Lana went pale, thankful she was sitting at the table for her legs would surely have given out if she were standing.

"And if I don't show up?" Clark wanted to know.

"He has threatened to attack my kingdom if you do not comply."

Lana's mouth went dry.

"I'll do it," Clark said. "I can't endanger you or your subjects anymore, my lord. You have already put yourself at great risk protecting us. This is my fight… not yours."

"Are you crazy?" Lana burst out, unable to stop herself. "'Tis madness to take on Blackwood! You're going to die!"

"I have no choice."

"Damn right you have a choice! You can cease this foolishness and come to your senses!" she exclaimed. "I'll not let you die here, not for me. Not for your masculine pride."

"There's more than pride at stake here," Clark shot back. "Bedford's kingdom has been threatened. The madman will stop at nothing to have you. And he'll stop at nothing to get to me." Anger sparked in his green eyes, almost enough to make Lana shrink back. Courage, she told herself.

"So that's it? You're not even going to try to find another solution?" She glanced from Clark to Bedford, imploring the older man with her eyes.

Bedford's expression was one of grim resignation. "Kendrick is right. Blackwood is a madman. This land would be better off with him out of the picture."

"But what if Kendrick does not win?" Lana persisted.

"My lady, we are speaking of the finest knight ever to grace England and the continent. He is virtually undefeated. Think you Blackwood is any match for him?"

But the prophecy, she wanted to say. I'm from the future. I know what's going to happen! "'Tis ill-advised to rest on your laurels. I take nothing for granted."

Bedford's expression softened. "I'll not deny that 'tis a hard life you've lived, my lady. You've lost the two men most dear to you, and the one who would be your husband. But you must let Kendrick do this. We will finish this business with Blackwood once and for all."

"But he'll kill him," Lana insisted, plaintively. "He'll kill him."

"You mustn't lose hope," Bedford urged. "Believe in him. 'Tis all you can do now."

Lana fought a sudden and irrational urge to start crying. It was all going just as it was supposed to! And she was helpless to do anything to stop it.

"I'll not die, Lianne," a low voice spoke up. A shiver snaked down her spine at the sound of it, the way that voice caressed her skin like velvet, murmured her name so sweetly last night…

Lana turned to face Clark, who stared at her with an intimacy that felt as though they were touching, even though he sat across the table from her. "I have too much to live for," he said. "We both do."

She gulped, praying Bedford did not notice the heat that practically shimmered between them. As angry, bitter, and disappointed as she felt toward him now, she still loved him. So much it hurt. So much it tore her apart inside to think of him facing his doom tomorrow.

"I'll not let you die," she whispered back.

Clark let her eyes hold his for a moment before turning back to Bedford. "We leave at dawn on the morrow," he said crisply. "Ralph will accompany me. Know you of a convent where the ladies will be safe, my lord? I put nothing past Blackwood."

"I will go to no convent," Lana broke in, her voice coldly resolute. "If you are to take part in this foolishness, then I shall accompany you."

"You've already put yourself in enough danger for me," Clark said tersely.

"Then I've no issue about putting myself in more." She stared him down, refusing to give an inch. "If you try to keep me away, it won't work. Send me to convent, and I will only escape and go to you. I suggest you save us both a lot of trouble and comply right now."

"I've no doubt she'll do it, too," Bedford jumped in. "I've known her from girlhood. She's a willful young lady with a knack for getting herself in trouble. Clever, too. But you know that already, don't you?"

Clark glared for a moment, but he knew it was a losing battle. "Very well," he said grudgingly. "The lady shall come as well. But I insist upon bringing two guards to watch over her, should Blackwood try to pull anything."

"Your request is reasonable," Bedford agreed. "I will arrange to have mounts and supplies ready for you on the morrow."

And just like that, it was decided. Tomorrow they set out on their most perilous journey yet. And there wasn't a thing they could do to prevent it.

Night fell over Bedford castle. Lana sat at the window seat in Lady Elisabeth's least-used solar, staring unseeingly through the glass and out into the forest. A light footfall alerted her of another presence in the room, and the sudden outbreak of goose bumps along the back of her neck made the identity of this person painfully clear.

"I had a feeling I'd find you here," Clark said.

"Clark, please… I don't want to get into this now," she mumbled, not meeting his eyes.

"Lana, we need to talk."

"There's nothing more to say. You've made your feelings abundantly clear." He is bound to his calling, and I fear not even the love of a woman is strong enough to break that bond.

"You're wrong about that."

Pent-up anger flooded over her in a hot wash. "What do you want from me, Clark? I was willing to give up everything for you. I love you. You say you love me, but you're clearly not willing to give up everything for me. Some girls might be able to deal with that, but I can't. Someday you're going to have to make a decision… this secret of yours or me."

"I have," he said quietly.

The icy hand of fear gripped her heart, and she found herself blinking against the sting of tears. "I see."

"I spoke to Gillian this morning," he went on. "I was wrong, Lana. I said this was all for your own good, but it wasn't. It was never about you… it's about me. About me being afraid to let you see me… the real me."

She looked up, hoping he did not see how bright her eyes were. "Why?" she whispered. "Do you really give me that little credit? Do you really think I'd change my mind about you so easily?"

"You might rethink that when you hear what I'm about to say."

She shook her head. "Nothing could change my mind about you."

"Even if everything you thought you knew about me turns out to be a lie?"

"That's not possible," she said quietly. "The part of you that you let me see… that was real. No matter what happened in your past, it won't change the fact that you're still the guy I fell in love with."

He sat down next to her, looking as though he wanted so badly to believe it, but just couldn't. "I should never have let myself get so close to you. Everything that's happened to you… it's all because of me."

"Clark, what are you talking about?" She reached out, gently slipped her small white hand over his large, tanned one. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me. Can't you see that?"

He shook his head. "You almost died because of me… so many times."

"You're not making any sense." She regarded him with a confused expression. "Maybe you should start from the beginning?"

He drew a breath, gathering his thoughts together. "The day of the meteor shower… the fact that it's the same day I showed up is no coincidence."

"OK…" she said slowly, unsure what he was leading up to.

"When my parents found me in the corn field, they found something else… a space ship."

Well, that was unexpected. "A space ship," she repeated.

He nodded. "I know it sounds crazy, but it's the truth. We kept it in the storm cellar until I destroyed it."

She frowned. "Why?"

"It's a long story."

"I've got time."

"We'll get to that," he assured her. "But as I was growing up, my parents noticed I wasn't exactly a normal kid. All those things the professor said Kendrick could do… having the strength of ten men, burning objects with his eyes, running faster than birds can fly… I can do them, too."

"Wait, wait," Lana cut him off. "Are you telling me that you're from another planet?"

"Well, yeah."

For a moment she was at a loss. "You'll have to excuse me if I have a hard time believing this. I've heard some pretty whack things from guys in the past, but this has got to take the cake."

"Need I remind you that you've been involved with a guy who thought he was a spider, a guy who could split himself in half—which, I might add, is really gross—a literal chick magnet, and as of late, someone who was actually dead?"

"Good point," she acknowledged. "But none of them thought he was an alien."

"Do you want me to prove it to you?" he questioned. "Watch." He stared intently at an torch on the wall, which flared to life within seconds. Lana was still looking on, dumbfounded, when Clark passed her a spool of thread. "Throw it across the room."

She frowned. "What?"

"Throw it across the room."

She did. He raced across the room, caught the spool, and handed it back to her in less than the span of a second.

Lana could only stare blankly at the spool of thread in his outstretched hand. "Oh, my God," she murmured.

"Now do you believe me?"

She could only finger the thread stupidly as he sat back down beside her. "It explains so much," she mumbled. "The tornadoes… the phone call… the routiers…." She looked up at him in amazement. "But you look just like us."

"You were expecting maybe scaly and green with eight arms?"

"How can this be?" she asked. "Everything about you is so human... you talk like us… think like us… have the same feelings as us.…" She reached up, rested her hand against his chest. With her free hand she lifted his hand and placed it to her chest. "Your heart beats just like us."

"But I'm not just like you," he said, quietly.

"You are to me," she whispered.

For a moment he was at a loss, unsure what to make of her reaction. "You're not freaked out? You're not afraid?"

"Of course I'm freaked out. How could I not be?" she said truthfully. "But afraid? Clark, I could never be afraid of you."

He simply gazed at her, scarcely daring hope that she was really going to accept this so easily.

He was right. "It's just… how could you keep the truth from me for so long?" she asked, her voice catching. "Did you think I'd tell? Did you think I couldn't handle it? Or did you just not trust me enough?"

"Well, if you were the one with the secret, what would you have done?" he wanted to know. "I spent my whole life having it drilled into my head by my parents that no one was ever supposed to know. Do you think I like being some kind of freak? Do you think I like never being able to get close to anyone because they'd know?"

"You haven't told anyone? Not even Pete and Chloe?"

"Pete knows. Chloe doesn't."

"You told Pete?"

"It sort of happened by accident. I didn't intend to."

She paused, unable to resist asking another question even though she didn't really want to know the answer. "What about other girlfriends?"

He hesitated a little too long for her liking. It was then that something Lana had nearly forgotten about streaked into her mind. "So this is what Alicia meant when she said you told her everything," she murmured. Hurt and anger sparked in her eyes. "Looks like you weren't afraid to get close to her. Did you tell her you loved her, too? Was it before or after you spilled everything?"

"Lana, you have to understand," Clark implored. "I wanted so much to find someone like me, someone who had powers… who would understand how it feels to be different."

"And I couldn't." To her horror, she felt the warming tingle of approaching tears. "You had one date with her, Clark… one date. But you've known me for years. You slept with me. And yet… I didn't deserve to know?" Her voice quavered dangerously.

"Please…" he pleaded. "Don't cry…"

He reached for her, but she pushed him away, shaking her head. "Just… just don't."

"Now do you know why I didn't tell you?" he asked. "Because I didn't want this to happen. I couldn't stand the thought of you looking at me this way. With disgust. Revulsion."

"You don't get it, do you, Clark?" Lana glared at him through moist eyes. "I don't care that you're an alien. I could've lived with it. I care that you didn't trust me enough to tell me. Worse, that you trusted some psychotic skank you barely knew, just because she was a freak like you."

The words slipped out before she could stop them. "Oh, God… that didn't come out right…"

"I don't think so." His eyes pierced her like blue-green daggers. "I think that came out exactly right."

A heavy, awkward silence fell over the room. It was Lana who finally broke it. "Look… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. It's just… you dropped a real bombshell on me tonight. You can't expect to tell me something like this and have me just take it in stride."

"I didn't. I was fully prepared for you to freak out, scream at me, hate me, whatever." But the look on his face made it clear to her that he hadn't been, not really. "You wanted the truth. Now you've got it."

She nodded, blinking rapidly in an attempt to hold back the tears. She couldn't dispute that.

He gave her a long look, anger and hurt and confusion all playing across his face at once. Then he said haltingly, "Maybe I told Alicia because I didn't love her… not the way I love you. The thought of losing you made me physically sick. It terrified me. It still does."

"But you pushed me away," Lana protested. "You lied to my face so many times."

"You think it was easy?" Clark shot back. "You think I liked seeing the pain your eyes when I said I don't love you?"

"Then why did you do it?" she whispered.

"Because part of loving someone is wanting to that person to be happy… even if it means letting them go."

"But my happiness is with you," she insisted.

He didn't say anything for a long time, just let out a slow, shaky breath. Finally he said, "Lana… I know it's asking a lot of you to forgive me. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't. But I'm asking anyway, because I just can't stand the thought of you hating me for the rest of your life."

"I don't hate you," she said honestly. "I could never hate you, Clark… I just… I can't handle this right now."

"I understand."

Tentatively, he reached for her. His time she didn't pull away. He rested his hand on her arm, lightly tracing his finger along the inside of her elbow. That such a simple, innocuous gesture could undo her the way it did unnerved her more than anything.

"Do you forgive me?" he whispered.

She nodded, feeling the warmth of a tear as it rolled down her cheek. "I forgive you."

Tenderly he reached up, wiped the tear from her cheek with his finger. She swallowed, the lump in her throat dissolving as he traced his tear-dampened finger along her jaw. Surely he felt her shiver, saw the way his touch rapidly made her lose any semblance of her cool. She knew she was weak but God help her, everything he'd put her through seemed to drift away into the inescapable reality that despite her hurt, anger, and confusion, she still felt the same powerful draw to him. It went beyond the physical, taking her over body, mind, and soul.

"Do you still love me?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper as his breath caressed her skin.

"Always," she whispered back.

And then he was kissing her and she was kissing him back, melting into him, into the fiery passion that threatened to consume them both. Her thoughts melded together in an incoherent jumble, and part of her was still wondering just what had happened tonight. But another part of her, the one that was gradually gaining dominance, didn't care. "Make love to me, Clark," Lana said hoarsely. "One last time… before we leave."

His only response was to sweep her into his arms and carry her out of the solar, down the deserted corridor and into his room.