Free Time Enough for Love by Morgan O'Neill

bodyguards and drew it forth.
    No one dared protest.
    “You shall fit if halved!” Willa swung the blade over her head, feeling a sensation akin to lust course through her body. She swept her arms down with all the strength she possessed. At the moment the sword hit the jailer’s head, her arms went numb with the impact, yet the rest of her body shook with a prolonged spasm unlike any she had ever known.
    Weak in the knees, sated, and dazed, it was all Willa could do to remain standing. She was barely aware as someone took the sword from her hand, as a foot was put to the corpse and the blade wrenched out, blood gushing from the cleaved head. Panting, she leaned against the wall and stared, unseeing, her ecstasy complete.
    “A-hem.” A bodyguard tried to get her attention.
    She willed her limbs to act, to regain some semblance of strength. “Yes,” she said, spitting out her words, “what is it?”
    He stood there for a moment, before stammering, “My… my lady, the prisoners. Would you have me mount a pursuit of the escapees?”
    Adelaide and the whore-monk gone! The reminder hit her hard, and she pushed herself off the wall. “Yes, you idiot, go .”
    Willa headed for the stairs, shouting over her shoulder to the others as she left. “And have somebody rid us of that mess. Make certain he is thrown to the dogs, or better yet, stuff him down that damnable hole. Yes, that is where he belongs! By God, he’s not deserving of a Christian burial.”
    *
    Huddling with Adelaide in the bow of a skiff, Gwen watched the fisherman help Father Warinus into the boat. As the priest took a seat in the stern, Memmo pushed away from the shore, then hopped over the side, and sat between the oars.
    Gwen searched the dark shoreline. Several minutes had passed since she’d heard the fading sounds of Ranulf. Would he and Barca draw the trackers away from them? She could only hope.
    The fisherman drew the oars back and took a stroke, then another, quiet and methodic. The heavens were thick with stars, the lake inky black and calm, reflecting the sky’s beauty. With a shudder, Gwen flashed back to how unnaturally dark the water looked in Willa’s garden.
    She glanced at the queen, wondering if she should reveal what had happened, concerned Willa would cause more evil. She rubbed her arms, thinking, If I tell her and they burn Willa at the stake, am I fine with it? Gwen squirmed, imagining the horror of such a death, but then decided she must give Adelaide a version of the truth, making no mention of time travel, or the twenty-first century.
    “My lady,” Gwen said, “there’s something I learned––”
    “Ladies, please,” Memmo whispered, cutting her off, “voices carry on the water. Speak not at all, until I give you leave to do so.”
    Nodding, Gwen settled back and watched La Rocca, huge and menacing, as it slowly receded in the distance. Minutes passed and she dangled her fingers in the water, welcoming its cool, velvety touch.
    Muffled sobs interrupted the quiet, and Gwen realized Adelaide had started to weep. Out of fear? Grief? With second thoughts about divulging what she’d seen in the garden, she wondered if it were selfish to burden Adelaide with such disturbing information. She glanced at Father Warinus, but he was staring off, lost in his thoughts.
    More time passed. Gwen closed her eyes, feeling strange, suspended between worlds of terror and calm. What would happen now?
    Looking back at La Rocca, she was sick with the realization Willa held the key to her time traveling. The longing to return home had never left, not even after she’d fallen in love with Alberto. She felt, suddenly, the pull of Willa’s terrible power, but she also knew she could never return to that bitch’s garden, the only gateway back home. The hope Gwen had secretly guarded seemed impossible now, beyond her reach. She was here to stay.
    But was she really? If Adelaide prevailed and Gwen could somehow force Willa to reveal her