by Lynn Kurland
Mary looked at her father and was very surprised to find that he was slightly misty-eyed. Either that, or he had swallowed amiss and was choking. With her sire, she just never knew.
He cleared his throat roughly. “Aye, she is less a burden than I’ll admit to. Now, you, however, have been irritating from the moment you set foot without my leave in my hall. Demanding clothing, spoiling my horseflesh, stirring up brawls in my courtyard. What will you combine next?”
Zachary smiled. “I hate to think.”
Her father set his cup on his table, then leaned back. “So do I, actually. So before you pull my hall down around my ears, consider me amply repaid for anything I’ve given you. You may trot freely out my gates to wherever it is you’ll go.”
Zachary smiled, though it somehow didn’t seem to come as easily as any of his smiles in the stable had. “I think I will, my lord. I need to return home as quickly as possible.”
Mary tucked her hands under her arms to hide their trembling. That was exactly what she’d been waiting to hear. Now all she had to do was wait for the time of his leave-taking and determine how to attach herself to him as he went.
She settled herself comfortably and tried to make herself unobtrusive. The sooner they forgot she was there, the sooner she would hear something interesting. ’Twas a pity she was reduced to that sort of open eavesdropping, but there it was. Her father continued to think he needed to keep things from her and she remained equally convinced he didn’t.
It took two cups of wine before her father and Zachary were speaking freely. Mary sat with her elbows on her knees and her chin on her fists and simply watched them. If she hadn’t known better, she would have assumed they were equals. Whatever else Zachary the smith might have been, he was not uncomfortable in the presence of powerful men. He was respectful of her father, but he didn’t cower and he didn’t grovel.
And he was so handsome, she could hardly look at him.
“For a smith who isn’t one, you haven’t done badly,” Robin said. “You haven’t burned down my forge yet.”
“I’ve tried not to,” Zachary said with half a laugh, “though Master Godric might have a different opinion.”
“And all to save a certain serving wench a thrashing she so richly deserved for liberating you from my dungeon,” Robin said, shaking his head. “There’s a decent piece of chivalry for you.”
Mary saw the look her father threw her way, but she didn’t allow herself to react to it. She was too busy being surprised by what she’d heard. So Zachary had worked for her father to spare her pain. Geoffrey never would have considered doing the like.
Nor, as it happened, would any of the others who’d come to lust after her dowry.
“What is it you do in your life outside my gates if you aren’t a smith?” Robin asked. “I’m assuming you do something besides linger at your father’s table, eating through his larder.”
“I have made my own way in the world,” Zachary said. “I’m an ar—I mean, I am ...” He considered for a moment. “The word escapes me, my lord. Let’s just say that I design buildings for others to build.”
“A master mason, then.”
“Of a sort, aye.”
“And where have you built things?”
“All over England. I had been preparing to begin work on a project here in the north for my brother-in-law before I, um, lost my way.”
“And found yourself inside my keep.”
“I took a wrong turn.”
“So you’ve said before. A wrong turn that took you through my front gates, across my courtyard, into my great hall, and up my stairs to my wife’s solar.”
“It was a very wrong turn, my lord.”
Robin grunted. “Perhaps you were distracted by thoughts of the building you were intending to do here in the north.” He studied him for a moment, then spoke. “I’m a little surprised that, given the skills you possess, you were willing to shovel manure.”
“You were the man with the sword, Lord Robin.”
Mary watched her father laugh easily. The conversation veered off into less personal topics, politics and the like. She continued to listen happily, partly because it gave her an opportunity to watch Zachary whilst being unobserved herself and partly because she enjoyed the talk of men. Indeed, there was little not to appreciate about a lad. They were generally straightforward and economical in their speech, forthright in their opinions, and baffled by the things that went on in her mother’s solar.
She understood completely.
And they weren’t afeared to simply end a conversation after a subject had been discussed to their satisfaction. As her father and Zachary were doing now. They stood, shook hands like equals, then exchanged good wishes and other pleasantries.
Zachary paused, then looked at her sire. “Shall I see your daughter to her chamber?”
Her father considered. “I suppose she would be safe enough,” he said slowly, “given that you’ll have more escorts than you need. And given that you’re leaving on the morrow.”
Mary didn’t dare look at her sire, lest he see something in her eye that would give her away.
Lust, perhaps.
Desperation, definitely.
She nodded to her sire, bid him a good night quietly, then allowed Zachary to open the door for her. She walked out into a cluster of cousins, but she didn’t mark which ones. All she could sense was the man walking next to her with his hands clasped behind his back, the man who waited for her to precede him up the stairs. She had a hard time walking steadily. Not even a day of riding had ever rendered her so weak in the knees.
’Twas appalling.
Zachary walked down the passageway with her. He paused at the door to her mother’s solar.
“What is it?” she asked.
He put his hand on the wood and was silent for a moment or two, then he smiled at her.
“Nothing. I was just curious.”
She couldn’t imagine why or about what, though it was near where she’d seen him first so perhaps he had memories of the place she couldn’t divine. She continued on with him until she reached her own doorway. She supposed she might have felt a small twinge of regret at parting company with him if she hadn’t been planning to see him in the future.
Very soon in the future.
She opened her door, walked inside, then turned and looked at him.
“Thank you.”
He glanced at the cluster of cousins who were watching him, then smiled. “I think you would have been safe enough without me, but it was a pleasure just the same. A good night to you, demoiselle.”
She nodded, then shut the door. She leaned back against that door, then considered what to do next. She would need clothes and food, no doubt. She also supposed she shouldn’t take a horse. Her father would discover she had gone eventually, of course, but the longer she could put off that discovery, the more time she would have at her disposal to do what she had to.
She put Zachary the smith out of her mind and concentrated on what she needed to do. After her father had been dissuaded from his plans to see her wed, she could return again to her very pleasant life of enjoying the companionship of her cousins and working her father’s horses.
She firmly ignored the fact that she contemplated the like with slightly less enthusiasm than she usually did. She certainly didn’t give any thought to the man who was to blame for that.
Nay, no thought at all.
Chapter 9
Zachary walked through the woods near dawn and knew he should have been content. The air was still, he had a decent cloak to ward off the chill, and it looked as if the sun might actually shine at some point that day. He had no one tex ting him, no former clients pushing him down stairs, and no ghosts dogging his steps and trying to make a match for him he didn’t want. At least he could safely say that quartet of shades weren’t responsible for sending him back in time—
He came to a very sudden halt.
They weren’t, were they? They hadn’t a
ctually thought to set him up with ... Mary de Piaget?
He retrieved his jaw from where it had fallen almost all the way to his chest, shook his head firmly, then continued on. The lack of sleep was getting to him and he was starting to hallucinate. Ambrose knew very well that there wasn’t any possible way for him to stay in medieval England. He had no money, no title, and no piles of gold sitting in the future that he could bring back to buy either. Robin of Artane, as great a guy as he seemed to be, wouldn’t have given his daughter to anyone without a pedigree to match hers, no matter how nicely he was asked.
Of course, that wasn’t to say that if he’d met Mary in his time that he wouldn’t have fallen to his knees and begged her to give him the time of day. Constantly. For the rest of his life. But the hard truth was, she was where she was and he was where he was going to get back to and never again the twain would meet. His journey to medieval England had simply been an aberration. A wrong turn, nothing more.
Unfortunately, setting his mind at ease about that didn’t solve the other thing that was bothering him.
He was being followed.
He hadn’t noticed it at all yesterday, which Jamie would have found completely unacceptable. In his defense, he’d been reeling from the double shot of distress he’d endured: walking past Anne de Piaget’s solar door and finding it nothing but wood, and leaving that completely-out-of-his-reach Mary de Piaget at her own, unremarkable doorway. He’d been more than happy to take off from Artane at dawn and pass the day trying to forget about both.
He’d walked quickly but carefully along a road that ran south and west. He hadn’t worried about thugs, though he hadn’t been particularly eager to meet any lest he do damage where it hadn’t been done before. Better to just avoid any encounters and hope to hell he could get all the way to Falconberg to that gate that would hopefully work just as it should.
He actually wasn’t as worried about the usefulness of the gate as he probably should have been. Perhaps familiarity really did breed contempt. He and Jamie had been in several dodgy situations that had run over his weekend allotment for time traveling and left him counting on his sister to call London and explain his unexplained absence. He’d probably had more relatives die unexpectedly than any other employee in Lambeth Group history. It was amazing Garrett hadn’t asked any questions. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know why not.
And if he and Jamie hadn’t found one gate responsive to their demands, they’d always had a backup plan. They had become uncannily able to find spots of ground that possessed that certain something that signaled a first-class return to the future. Based on reports he’d had, he was certain he would find the fairy ring at Falconberg responsive to his requests. It was worth the two weeks it would take him to get there, no matter how much raw meat he had to live on along the way.
Or so he’d thought until sometime during the middle of the night. He’d wondered if he were imagining things until he’d heard the sound of a twig cracking twenty feet away from him.
He’d decided that instead of confronting the lad immediately, he would continue on. He was a very good tracker, thanks to countless endurance hikes with Patrick MacLeod, and he was a very silent walker, thanks to an equal number of jaunts with Jamie. He’d been fully prepared to lose his stalker quite quickly and be on his way. Or he had been until he’d listened to how clumsily he was being tailed.
He’d eliminated a peasant immediately. Artane’s peasants wouldn’t have had any use for a hundred-and-fifty-mile march south, not when safety lay behind Artane’s substantial walls. A local thug also wouldn’t have had the patience to continue to follow him without trying something a bit more aggressive long before dark.
He had run through a mental list of Mary’s cousins and decided that it had to have been one of the twins, either Theo or Samuel. Why they hadn’t come as a pair was a mystery, but one he would solve soon enough. And then he would deposit the errant boy at Wyckham and continue on his way.
That had been hours ago. He continued on now in the shadow of the trees lining the road until he saw that the sky was beginning to grow light in the east, then he disappeared into the shadows and doubled back.
It didn’t take him long to see the cloaked and hooded figure creeping along toward him. He remained in the shadows of a tree and considered what he could do that would teach the most pointed lesson. He decided jerking the kid off his feet and slamming him firmly against a handy tree might do the trick. There was no sense in not leaving a lasting impression. He was fairly sure the current lord and lady of Wyckham would thank him for it.
He waited until the boy had crept within arm’s reach, then grabbed him and did just as he’d planned—only to find that it wasn’t a boy he held at all.
He was so stunned by the sight of Mary de Piaget standing there, gasping unsuccessfully for breath, that he found himself for once in his life completely at a loss for words. It matched her condition perfectly, though hers was a rather involuntary one, to be sure.
“I’m so sorry,” he stammered finally. He had never in his life winded someone he hadn’t intended to. “I had no idea it was you.”
“A-apparently.”
He helped her sit in the weeds to the side of the road, then squatted down next to her. She glared at him as she continued to struggle to breathe, which was a nice counterpoint to the tears of pain she probably didn’t know were standing in her eyes. He took a deep breath for her.
“Those unkind thoughts you’re thinking about me aren’t helping,” he said. “Instead, why don’t you tell me why you were following me?”
He had another glare for his trouble.
“Or perhaps later.” He reached out and rubbed her back gently before he thought better of it. He wasn’t sure it would help her any, but it would certainly give him a minute or two to think.
He couldn’t just leave her on the side of the road, and he couldn’t just drop her off at Wyckham. Even if she had been a twenty-first-century sort of girl with a car, he probably would have at least offered to follow her home to make sure she got there safely. But the daughter of a medieval lord who didn’t have a small army of her father’s most skilled guardsmen to protect her? He would have to do more than wish her a nice day.
He rubbed his free hand over his face wearily. He would have to take her back to Artane, but he couldn’t see it happening that day. He’d already been on his feet for the better part of twenty-four hours and she obviously had been as well. He couldn’t expect either of them to make a return trip without some kind of rest first.
He looked at the surrounding countryside. Wyckham was probably the closest safe haven. He supposed he shouldn’t have enjoyed the thought of that as much as he did, but Mary needed shelter and he needed a rest. Why not manage both in a keep he wouldn’t be unhappy to see in its original glory?
“You attempted to slay me,” Mary wheezed suddenly.
He looked back at her and smiled. “I assumed you were either Theo or Sam and thought a lesson was in order.”
“Which lesson?” she managed. “Never to sneak out of the keep or never to sneak up on you?”
“Both, probably,” he admitted. He looked her over critically. “Is anything broken?”
She put her hands to her back and winced. “Just bruised, I daresay.” She shot him a look. “I’m ready to curse you now.”
“Curse me later, when we’re somewhere safe. Can you move?”
“I don’t think I have a choice.”
“Then let’s be on our way.”
He rose, then held down his hands for her. She looked at him briefly, then slowly put her hands in his. He pulled her to her feet, then looked into her face so close to his. Her eyes were still that lovely green that looked like backlit leaves on a summertime tree.
An enormous déjà vu washed over him.
And he knew déjà vu.
She looked up at him, an expression of surprise on her face that he was certain mirrored his own. He knew he should have released her hands
immediately, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Never mind that he had no business touching her, or looking down into her beautiful face, or wondering suddenly if she’d ever been kissed. Or why she hadn’t been married to some lecher the moment she’d turned twelve.
Or why the hell he couldn’t have been a medieval baron with spurs on his heels and gold in his purse.
He gave himself a hard mental shake, then let go of her. He took a step backward, for good measure.
“Tell me why you’re here,” he said. It came out more brusquely than he’d intended, but that was probably just as well. The more he succeeded at thinking of her as a bother and less of an angel, the better off he would be.
“I was hoping you would take me with you,” she said, lifting her chin. “South.”
He blinked. “South?”
She folded her arms over her chest in a pose that was so reminiscent of her father, he almost smiled. She, however, wasn’t smiling at all.
“You said to my father that you were going south. I want to come with you.” She nodded firmly, as if she expected him to nod right along with her. “I assure you I won’t be any trouble.”
He wasn’t sure he could manage the response that deserved. Trouble didn’t begin to describe what she would be. A beacon to thugs, a constant reminder of what he couldn’t have and shouldn’t be wanting, a colossal distraction. No, she wouldn’t be any trouble at all.
“And your destination?” he asked, when he thought he could say it calmly.
“Sedgwick,” she said. “My uncle Montgomery’s keep. I would prefer to go to France, but I didn’t suppose you would be interested in a sea journey. Sedgwick is far enough for my purposes.”
Zachary looked at her in astonishment. “You want me to walk you all the way to Sedgwick, then leave you there?”
“Aye,” she said simply.
He took a step backward, because he had to do something to buy himself some space to think. If something happened to her, her father would kill him. Actually, Robin wouldn’t have to commit murder because Zachary was fairly sure he would do the honors himself.