by Lynn Kurland
“You’ll pry them from my cold, dead fingers with your sword.”
Nicholas laughed. “We’ll see where we stand after a few days in my lists. I won’t work you too hard this morning. You’ll want to see if your lady is recovered from the hell you put her through getting here. Couldn’t you have found a horse?”
“And have bought it with what?” John asked with a snort. “My keys? My phone? A credit card?”
Nicholas’s eyes were bright. “Do you have any of them with you?”
“All three, hidden cunningly in my boot. I’ll give you a sight of them in your solar later, if you like.”
Nicholas rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Absolutely.” He paused, then shot John a look. “I have to tell you, though, that this is all very strange.”
John found he had absolutely nothing to say in return. He was about to step into his brother’s lists, hopefully reach the other end of the encounter without finding himself impaled on the end of that brother’s very sharp sword, then potentially spend the evening wooing his very modern love, and all the while contemplating showing that medieval brother all the apps on his mobile phone.
He thought he just might have to thank Fate for a change instead of cursing her.
Chapter 21
Tess woke, then froze.
Well, she froze partly because she was freezing, but mostly because she had no idea where she was.
Or at least she didn’t for a moment or two. She looked up at the canopy over her head and remembered that she was in Nicholas de Piaget’s castle. In the thirteenth century. In a nightgown she had only vague memories of being helped into by an extremely pregnant Jennifer de Piaget. Either her hostess was very near her due date, or she was about to have twins. Tess wasn’t about to ask.
She found herself having to take several very careful breaths. It was one thing to go on vacation and experience a different culture or way of life. It was another thing entirely to be thrust back into a time period not her own with nothing more than the clothes on her back and her tenuous tie to a man of that vintage to keep her safe—
Not that she would worry about the last bit. John had promised to protect her and so he would. If she could count on nothing else in the world, she knew she could count on his keeping his word.
She was tempted to laugh, but she thought that might evolve into something that sounded less amused and more hysterical. There she was with a doctorate in medieval history, yet now she was actually living in a time that had been purely academic to her before. She realized abruptly that the only way she was going to keep from losing it was to look at things in a purely academic way. Obviously she was going to have to find pen and paper right off. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, and she didn’t want to miss any of it.
She didn’t allow herself to wonder if maybe she wouldn’t need that pen and paper because she would never get back to her proper place in time.
She sat up, dragged her hands through her hair to encounter a rather unpleasant, greasy mess, then swung her legs to the floor.
She got up, made her bed that was actually not as uncomfortable as she would have suspected it might be, then walked over to the table under the window. There was a note there from Jennifer welcoming her and instructing her to make use of whatever she found in the room because it had been left for her. Tess walked over to the door, locked it, then quickly did the best she could with what was available. She braided her hair in hopes that it would disguise its condition, then dressed in the clothes Jennifer had left for her, feeling fortunate she and John’s sister-in-law were close in size and height.
She took a deep breath, blew out the candle on the nightstand, then went and opened the door.
A man she didn’t recognize was standing against the opposite wall. He made her a low bow, then straightened and smiled. “Lady Tess,” he said politely. “A good morning to you.”
“Morning?” she asked in surprise. She would have thought it was just evening, but perhaps she’d had a better nap than she’d thought. She nodded and hoped her French would be serviceable enough. At least she understood the offer of an escort to breakfast. She followed the man along the hallway and down the stairs, trying not to notice the newness of the place.
For some reason, that was very unsettling.
She walked out into the great hall, realizing she was hoping a bit more fervently than she was comfortable with to see John. He wasn’t there, but Jennifer was, trying to chase after a two-year-old towheaded lad who was apparently determined to do something he shouldn’t. His little boots were caked with mud, but then again, so were his hands and face. Tess didn’t dare speculate on where he might have come by all that dirt, but she certainly wasn’t above lending a hand when necessary. She caught the lad, swung him up into her arms, and looked at him seriously.
“Are you making mischief?” she asked, hoping it had come out as it should have.
He stopped squirming immediately and looked at her. “Lady Tess.”
“Yes, I am. And who are you?”
“Connah,” he said with a sweet smile. “Want John.”
“I do, too,” she said frankly. “Shall we ask your mama if we can go find him?”
He crawled out of her arms, reached for her hand, then tugged. Tess went with him and found herself deposited in front of the fire where Jennifer had taken refuge.
“Thank you,” Jennifer said in English, with a grateful smile. “He’s a bit much for me in my current state.”
Tess cleared her throat. “I can do French, if you don’t mind a few mistakes.”
“Later, after you’ve given me a couple of details I might want to know,” Jennifer said, looking at her with bright eyes. “How is Megan?”
“Happy, doted on, missing you,” Tess said with a smile. “I spent a couple of weeks at Artane with her after—” She had to pause catch a breath she hadn’t realized she would need before she could finish. “Ah, after Pippa . . . well, after Pippa left.”
Jennifer’s expression was one of sympathy. “I understand, believe me. If it makes you feel any better, she’s deliriously happy. Missing you and Peaches, of course, but happy.”
Tess nodded and attempted a smile, but wasn’t exactly sure she’d succeeded. It had been difficult enough getting over having lost Pippa before; having to lose her again after potentially seeing her in her current situation—
Jennifer set Connor back down on the floor from where he’d tried to crawl into the chair with her. “Let’s go find you something for breakfast, then Connor can take you out to the lists where he’s apparently been all morning.” She smiled. “You can call it research.”
Tess suppressed a shiver. “It’s giving living history an entirely new meaning, believe me.” She stood up, helped Jennifer to her feet, then smiled in sympathy. “Are you due soon?”
“With twins, if you can believe it,” Jennifer said with a game smile. “Girls, from what I understand.”
Tess didn’t want to pry, but she couldn’t imagine Jennifer had a local clinic to frequent for an ultrasound. “How do you know?”
Jennifer leaned close. “My mother brought back a guidebook from Beauvois—that’s Nicky’s keep in France. Apparently we’re not nearly done yet with having children.”
“That sort of takes all the spontaneity out of it, doesn’t it?” Tess asked weakly.
Jennifer laughed. “You would think so, but somehow it doesn’t. I’ll tell you what’s really mind-blowing is to have your medieval husband quoting Shakespeare at you during labor or spouting in superior tones the odd Wordsworth quote. When he’s feeling moody, he’ll quote Yeats.” She looked at Tess. “I suppose for you, the opposite is true. I can’t imagine John has shed many of his medieval habits.”
Tess shook her head. “He herds me, a lot.”
“It’s what his father taught him to do,” Jennifer said with a smile. “Very chivalrous, if you look at it the right way.” She linked arms with Tess. “I didn’t know John as a child, but I’
ll tell you all about him as a young man, if you like.”
“Was he terrible?”
“No,” Jennifer said with a smile, “he was wonderful. Arrogant, of course, but very serious about his knightly virtues and making something of himself that his father would be proud of. He had a dry sense of humor that always killed Nicky.” She looked at Tess seriously. “Does he laugh much anymore?”
Tess sighed. “I can’t say he does, but the dry humor is definitely still there.” She paused. “I think—no, I know he’s spent the last eight years running from his past. I think he’s still trying to deal with the irony of meeting me, though that’s sort of a fluke.”
“Some fluke,” Jennifer said with a delicate snort. “It looks to me as though he has every intention of making it a permanent thing, though I’m not sure how you feel about it.”
Tess shrugged as casually as she could. “I’m not sure that matters.” She looked at Jennifer. “Now that he’s home, that is.”
Jennifer only looked at her with a pained smile. “I don’t have the answer for you, and I think I’ll keep my speculations to myself for now. And we’d better switch to French or my kitchen staff will think I’m crazier than they already do.”
Tess couldn’t imagine that because Jennifer was welcomed into the kitchen with what she could see was true affection. She was the happy beneficiary of the overflow of all that came Jennifer’s way, as well as the pleasure of one Connor de Piaget who seemed quite happy to sit on a stool next to her and watch her with very wide blue eyes.
“That is Pippa’s sister,” Jennifer said. “They look alike, don’t they?”
Connor considered that while trying to take a few layers off his thumb. Tess laughed a little, then turned back to breakfast and a very basic conversation in medieval Norman French.
“Nicky has plenty of paper and ink if you want it,” Jennifer said, with a knowing look. “No sense in not making a few notes while you can.”
Tess agreed wholeheartedly because, again, putting herself back in the role of scholar gave her a sense of security and purpose, which she realized she needed desperately. It was one thing to look back on the Middle Ages and hunt for elusive surviving sketches of dress or spend hours translating and deciphering crumbling texts for details that others might have overlooked. It was another thing entirely to be sitting across from a woman who moved easily in that world and seemed quite happy to carry on without chocolate and a wireless Internet connection.
“John now?” Connor asked, popping his thumb out of his mouth.
John.
Tess took a deep breath, then nodded. She hadn’t seen him yet, awake and moving about in his proper time period.
She only hoped she would survive the sight.
Half an hour later, dressed in boots and wearing a warm cloak borrowed from the lady of the castle, she was walking with Jennifer’s youngest son around the side of the hall itself and out to the lists. There was a collection of young boys lounging on a bench on the near side of the field, but they leaped up the moment they saw her. She was escorted over to that stone bench pushed up against the castle wall and instructed politely to sit where they might watch over her.
She settled Connor on her lap, immediately forgot the names of the other lads who introduced themselves to her, and wondered why in the world she’d thought John had dredged up any of his sword skill that day at Warewick when he’d shown Bill how little he knew.
She let out a slow breath, because it helped her feel a bit less like she’d just fallen into a medieval movie. The bench was very cold under her despite Jennifer’s cloak, and the boys crowded around her helped a little, but still she couldn’t quite control her shivers.
Nicholas and John were sparring in tunics, hose, boots, and leather jerkins instead of chain mail. She supposed they knew what they were doing or they wouldn’t have been so lightly protected, but still she jumped every time their blades crossed.
She grasped frantically for any shred of academic dispassion she possessed. So the guys in front of her—and not just them, but probably two dozen other men as well—were fighting with swords. It was what they needed to do to practice their survival skills. In fact, it was probably just a part of their normal day, like going off on a little ride or doing in the odd ruffian to keep their families safe.
She studied Nicholas for a minute because he was the lord of the castle, and she supposed there was a certain standard of swordplay he held himself to. An important point to verify for her next paper, of course. She could see why Jennifer had considered him capable of protecting her and her children in such an environment. He was, despite his obviously laid-back attitude and casual air, a master at his craft. If she’d seen him in a temper coming her way, she would have surrendered without hesitation. But he wasn’t the man she was truly interested in watching.
She let out her breath slowly and set aside academics so she could look at the sight she truly wanted to savor.
John de Piaget, medieval knight.
She closed her eyes—briefly, so she didn’t miss more than necessary. John was deliciously gorgeous, from the dark hair he kept shoving out of his eyes with a curse to the bottoms of his mud-encrusted boots. If he was out of practice with his sword, she couldn’t tell. He was absolutely in his element, fighting with an intense concentration she had seen him use in other things, laughing periodically at something his brother would say that she was sure wasn’t polite, cursing when Nicholas’s blade came too close to his face or his ribs. It was as if he’d never passed a single day away from his normal routine, never been anything but the fourth son of one of the most powerful barons in medieval England.
“Lady Tess, your cheeks are red,” one of the lads said, peering at her intently.
“I’m chilled,” Tess said faintly. It wouldn’t do to tell an impressionable young boy that she was lusting after his uncle.
She forced herself to tear her gaze away periodically to watch the other men training in the field, but they weren’t nearly as interesting as the two in front of her—and she didn’t think that was simply because she was fond—
She took a deep breath. No, she wasn’t fond of John de Piaget.
She was crazy about him.
She chewed on that realization for several minutes until she came to another one which was that John was crazy. His brother was obviously showing him no mercy, but he only laughed in the face of it. Hollywood producers would have killed to get their hands on either of the two men in front of her. Gorgeous, buff, and wielding swords as if their lives depended on it.
She leaned around Connor to see if he was impressed as well only to find him watching with enormous eyes and still working on his thumb. Answer enough.
She wasn’t sure how much time passed before John held up his hand, then leaned over with that hand on his thigh to catch his breath. He was absolutely drenched. His brother was no less damp, so perhaps the workout had been spread around equally. She watched them exchange a few pleasantries—well, slurs, again, if her Norman French was anywhere close to accurate—laugh, then walk off the field toward her.
She prided herself on her composure, which at the moment was the only thing keeping her from embarrassing herself by either blushing or drooling.
John pushed his sweaty hair out of his eyes and smiled as he stopped in front of her. “I see you have a champion there.”
She shivered in spite of herself. Norman French. Medieval Norman French, which that gorgeous man standing in front of her had grown up speaking. That man who could likely just as easily participate in a tournament as hop in his Vanquish and zip up the M25.
And to think he’d been hiding it all under jeans, a sweater, and a demeanor that discouraged any and all questions about his true origins.
“I think,” Nicholas drawled, “that your stench has rendered her speechless.”
John elbowed his brother in the ribs with a good deal of enthusiasm. “Shut up,” he suggested.
Nicholas eyed him archly. “Go ba
the. I’ll give your lady a tour of the lists. I would make haste were I you, though, before I convince her that life with you would be a misery.”
John looked at Tess and shook his head in disbelief. “Did I want to see him again?”
She held up her hands in surrender. “I’m not going to comment. But I will wait for you.”
“I’ll hurry.”
And with that, he was trotting back toward the house. Nicholas took his toddler, swung him up to sit on his shoulders, then smiled at Tess. “English or French?” he asked politely.
“French, if you have the patience for it,” she said, rising. “I’m sorry to have taken such advantage of your guest room yesterday. I didn’t realize I’d slept that long.”
“Don’t spare thought for it,” Nicholas said dismissively. “I understand John ran you the entire way here from Chevington. I suppose he had no choice, but the distance isn’t easy. You’re justified in being weary.” He smiled at her. “I understand you have a university degree in medieval history.”
She found herself blushing. “Ridiculous, isn’t it? I’m studying what you’re living.”
“I would say the subject is the only one worthy of study, but then I would sound like my brother Robin and that would make me queasy. Instead, let’s take a turn about the keep, and I’ll keep my thoughts to myself. If anything strikes your fancy, tell me of it and we’ll discuss it.”
She smiled. “You’re very kind.”
He studied her for a moment or two. “I think I can understand what it cost you to lose Pippa, who has made my youngest brother happier than he deserves to be. Consider it a poor exchange.”
She nodded, though she found, to her horror, that it bothered her that he hadn’t said anything about John being the exchange for Pippa—if such an awful exchange could possibly be contemplated without wincing.
She wondered, accompanied by a feeling that sat in her stomach like a rock, if John would want to stay in medieval England now that he’d found his way back to it.