by Lynn Kurland
“John, maybe—”
“Tess, nay,” he said firmly, then he blew out his breath. He pulled back and looked at her. “I’m sorry. My distress speaks.” He managed a smile. “I could have been hit by a bus a fortnight ago and not had any of this. I’m grateful for an unexpected pleasure.”
Which he could have for the rest of his life if he wanted it, but she supposed there was no point in saying as much any longer. He knew it as well as she did. She couldn’t make his choice for him. All she could do was try not to imagine the hole that would be left in her heart if he decided to give her a firm push through a time gate while remaining on the far side of it.
He took her face in his hands, looked at her seriously, then bent his head and kissed her softly.
“By the saints, none of that!” Robin bellowed. “There are children being subjected to the spectacle!”
John pursed his lips. “He is one sibling I will not miss.”
“Liar,” she said breathlessly. “But don’t do that again. I’m supposed to stay on my horse today.”
“The first dark corner I find,” he said, looking at her purposefully. “You’re coming with me.”
“Of course, my lord.”
He laughed a little, hugged her tightly, then led her over to her horse and helped her up into the saddle. Tess took the reins from him and prayed she wouldn’t fall off.
Considering how floored she was by the very briefest of kisses from a man who had turned her around from the moment she’d seen him, she didn’t hold out much hope for it.
And damn him if he didn’t know it.
He winked at her, then swung up onto his own horse. He looked back only once, as they rode through the front gates. Then he put his face forward and was very quiet. He did look at her and attempt a smile after a bit. She couldn’t say anything.
She appreciated Nicholas’s words, but the reality of John’s situation was very difficult to watch. She knew he had made his choice, and he didn’t regret it, but that didn’t make watching it any easier.
She put her face forward and tried not to join John in a few discreet tears.
Medieval travel was, she could readily admit three days later, hellish.
Riding was better than walking, but not by much. She was never again going to complain about her little runabout. If she ever rode in John’s car again, she was going to spend half of every journey thinking kind thoughts about the absolute luxury of his seats.
The journey hadn’t been without its unexpected pleasures, despite the difficulty of it. Having the chance to get to know Amanda had been one of those. John’s oldest sister was the sort of medieval girl Tess would have wanted to be if she’d been born in the era. She was absolutely fearless, terribly outspoken, and full of her own very strong opinions. Tess rode next to her as often as possible—actually between Amanda and Robin—just to get an earful—in stereo—of current day happenings. Tess wished she’d had a tape recorder or a photographic memory. Robin told her not to worry, that John had the same thoughts running through his wee brain, but she couldn’t take much comfort in that. She had tried not to chew on decisions already made, but she honestly wouldn’t have blamed him at all if he had . . . well, if he changed his mind.
Though he didn’t look like he was contemplating that. She glanced at him to find he was watching her with a small, affectionate smile.
“You’re going to run into something,” she managed.
“Never. I can admire you all day and still remain in the saddle.” He shrugged. “It’s a gift.”
She laughed a little, then caught her breath as he reached over and took hold of her hand. She was wearing gloves, but that didn’t stop her from realizing he had put his thumb over her fourth finger, over the ring he’d given her.
“Stop thinking so much,” he said seriously.
She let out a deep breath, then nodded. He squeezed her hand very gently, then released her. She smiled briefly at him, then turned back to concentrating on that spot between her horse’s ears.
She realized, quite a while later, that they had stopped only because she woke from her stupor of too many thoughts she shouldn’t have been entertaining to find that her horse was no longer moving. She looked around her to try to figure out where she was only to realize she was somewhere she definitely didn’t want to be.
Chevington.
The place shouldn’t have given her the creeps. After all, it was the scene of her most recent academic triumph. It was also fairly new so there wasn’t any of that pesky paranormal activity to worry about.
It was also the place where she’d launched her journey into her current locale, so perhaps that was reason enough for a few shivers.
She realized with a start that John was holding up his arms for her. She had grown accustomed to simply falling out of the saddle into them, so she did it again, with apologies to her mount. He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, then looked at his eldest brother.
“I’m still not sure this is wise.”
Robin looked at their company with a thoughtful frown. Besides the adults of John’s family, there were a handful of children and at least thirty guardsmen. Hard-eyed, hard-bitten warriors with swords and attitudes, not all of whom apparently belonged to Robin, but all of whom called Robin my lord in near worshipful tones. Robin shrugged.
“And just what, my dear brother, is it you think the hapless Richard of Chevington is going to do? Heave his equally useless son Everard over the parapet and hope he lands on one of us?”
“I sincerely doubt Everard is here,” John said grimly, “based on what Nick told me of his recent escapades. Roland, however, is another tale entirely. I’m not sure we have any idea where he is.”
“Roland is about as likely to slip a dagger through your ribs as I am,” Robin said with a snort. “I wouldn’t be surprised to find he’d gone south to Segrave to pay his respects to Grandmère. He’s no doubt hoping to fawn over her so much that she forgets that Chevington is part of Segrave’s holdings. Or perhaps he simply wants to arrive early to flatter his new overlord.”
Tess blinked in surprise. “Is that how it is, then?”
“Aye, ’tis complicated, isn’t it?” Robin said with a pleasant smile. “I’ll admit it gives me pains in my head trying to remember who holds what, but there you have it. Richard continually indulges in thinking he is more important than he is. Roland isn’t a bad sort, but I wouldn’t give you a damned shilling for Everard. Why Montgomery has endured his company for so long, I don’t know.”
“He’s a tenderhearted sap,” John said.
Robin looked at him knowingly. “Cross blades with your wee brother and see if you don’t think differently now. As for me, I’m only interested in a bed. We’ll eat our own stores, I believe, instead of risking a taster.”
Tess thought she might start to hyperventilate soon. She forced herself to take slow, deep, even breaths until she thought she might have even the tail end of the impulse under control. John pulled her into his arms and wrapped his cloak around her, as if he strove to shield her.
“I agree about supper,” John said in a low voice, “but I’m not convinced we shouldn’t bed down in the stables.”
Robin considered. “The bairns would brag about it endlessly, true, but I’m not sure ’tis wise, simply because there is too little between us and the outside world.”
“And we’re better off inside his hall where we might be pinned in chambers?” John asked sharply.
Robin reached out and put his hand on John’s shoulder. “You don’t actually think his garrison is capable of overpowering us, do you?”
Tess felt John sigh, then tighten his arms briefly around her before he released her.
“I suppose not,” he said heavily. “And I suppose being inside his hall might provide us with clues we might not find elsewhere.”
Tess supposed that was true as well, but she shivered in spite of herself just the same as she walked to the front gates with John. Th
ey were surrounded by a collection of very fierce men, but that was somehow less comforting than she would have thought. She had the feeling that a few of the things Chevington might have to offer were things that couldn’t be bested with a sword. To say it was spooky to be walking over the same ground she’d walked over in a different century was understating it badly. She looked up at John, but it had grown too dark to see his expression clearly. She couldn’t imagine, based on his unwillingness to enter the forest, that he wasn’t thinking the same thing.
The castle was lit not by floodlights but by torches. She could see the glint of something occasionally along the walls. Swords, perhaps. Chain mail and helmets, definitely.
“We’re expected,” John said quietly. “Robin sent word ahead.”
“So they’re planning on us?”
“For better or worse,” he agreed.
She wondered if he noticed that she moved closer to him. For the first time in their rather tumultuous relationship, she could safely say she wouldn’t argue if he pulled her behind him.
She wasn’t sure she would be able to describe with any precision the procession of events from that point on. They were welcomed inside, she did her best not to gape at the lord of Chevington, and they made noises about not putting Richard to any trouble. He didn’t seem to find their having brought their own supper to be anything out of the ordinary, though he balked at allowing them to sleep in the great hall. The ladies, at least, would have decent chambers.
Tess found herself escorted upstairs with absolutely no chance to talk to John about what she’d just discovered. She was given the courtesy of her own room, which she wasn’t sure she appreciated, but there was nothing to be done about it. She didn’t even dare undress, so she simply sat in front of a completely inadequate—even by medieval standards—fire and fretted.
And as she fretted, she considered yet again just what had bothered her so much about their very brief bit of conversation with Richard of Chevington. John had to know what she’d seen. She jumped to her feet and went to open her bedroom door.
John was standing there with his back to it. He turned around and frowned. “Why aren’t you abed?”
“Why aren’t you?”
He shot her a look she didn’t need words to decipher.
“You’ll fall off your horse tomorrow,” she predicted.
“And you’ll be alive to catch me,” he said pointedly. “Go to bed, Tess.”
She shook her head. “I need to talk—”
“Tomorrow.”
“But—”
He scowled. “Woman, my time—”
“And in my time,” she said, exasperated, “Richard is Roland. Well, he isn’t Roland, but he looks so much like him, they have to be related.”
He stopped scowling. That could have been because his mouth had fallen open. “What?”
She reached out and took hold of the front of his tunic and pulled him closer. “I’m telling you that Roland—Roland, the last Earl of Sedgwick who gave me my castle—looks almost exactly like Richard of Chevington, the Richard I just saw downstairs. They aren’t the same person, I’m sure of that, but they have to be related somehow.”
He put his hand on the wall, apparently to steady himself. “Richard has no brothers, and his father’s name was Stephen,” he managed. “There is no other Roland in his line that I know of save his son.” He drew his hand over his eyes. “So, are you telling me you think your Roland of the future is somehow our Roland of the past?”
“I don’t know,” she said helplessly. “I just know they look too much alike for it to be a coincidence.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
She looked at him in disbelief. He laughed a little, then smiled at her. “Very well, I didn’t give you a chance. I apologize.” He considered for a bit. “How long had you known Roland in the future? Your Roland?”
“Only a couple of months before he gave me the castle. I don’t even know how long he’d lived there.” She let out her breath slowly. “I never thought to investigate it.”
“You wouldn’t have had any reason to,” he agreed. “A pity, though, for knowing that would answer a few questions for us.”
“I think there’s only one question,” she said slowly, “and I imagine we can speculate on the answer to it without any help.”
“You’re talking about the note I wrote for Nick?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe. He was speaking in English, which gave her a very good idea of how adverse he was to being eavesdropped on. “You think Roland may have read the missive and understood it where Everard couldn’t?”
“Or they both could have read it and both tried the gate.”
“Everard can’t read.”
“And if he’d had help—in either century? What would he have done then?”
John blew out his breath. “The saints preserve us, I can scarce think on it.”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I think Roland’s harmless,” she offered. “He’s been very generous to me.”
“Where I can guarantee Everard wouldn’t have been,” John said grimly. He rubbed his hands over his face suddenly, then shook his head. “Let’s sleep on it, then give it more thought tomorrow.” He made a twirling motion with his finger. “Turn around and walk on, gel.”
She turned because he gave her no choice, but she turned back around and put her hand on the door before he pulled it shut. “You have to sleep,” she said seriously.
He smiled very briefly. “Another hour and I’m off to bed as well, I promise.”
“I wish your BlackBerry worked so we could do a little quick search on the history of Sedgwick.”
He laughed a little, then reached out and pulled her into his arms. He smiled down at her as he slipped her hand under her hair. “I’m afraid we’re on our own, but oftimes that can work to our benefit.”
“You unscrupulous kisser of maidens in distress,” she breathed.
“And at such a time as this,” he agreed, just before he rendered her quite incapable of speech.
By the time he finally lifted his head and looked at her, she had been reduced to clutching the doorframe. It seemed a little more stable than John, actually.
“You should stop that,” she managed. “You need a clear head.”
“And that won’t lead to it, I assure you.”
She leaned up and kissed him primly on the cheek. “That might. Go to bed when you’re supposed to.” She started to shut the door, then paused. “Be careful.”
“Always.” He leaned in, kissed her very briefly, then pulled back and motioned for her to shut the door. “Bolt it. Please.”
Well, that wasn’t the first time she’d heard that, though she appreciated the added bit of politeness. She bolted her door, then turned and looked over her accommodations. The bed was full of bedbugs—she’d already looked—and the floor was filthy. She hated to lie down on it in Jennifer’s dress, even one that was, as Jennifer had protested as Tess had insisted on it, fit for the rag bag.
But better dirty than itching, so she lay down in front of the fire and hoped she would see John and the sunrise both in the morning.
Roland? The Earl of Sedgwick?
She closed her eyes in an attempt to block out the thought, but that only led to others. It was conceivable that he’d left her the castle out of altruism, but it was equally possible he’d had a more sinister motive.
She only hoped she could divine what it was before it was too late.
Chapter 28
John reined in just outside Segrave’s gates with his company and waited for Robin to sort the gate guards. He was grateful not only for the chance to sit still, but to wonder about a few things that puzzled him still.
Such as why Roland of Chevington would have gone to the Future.
Well, perhaps there was no mystery there. Roland had always been a quiet lad, but a thinker. If he’d even been able to imagine another world, he might well have mustered up the courage to go have a
look at it. John understood that, given that he’d done the same himself, but he’d had the benefit of having watched siblings wed souls from that era. Roland would have known nothing of it, would have had no idea what to expect, and surely had no good reason to go farther than a dozen paces from his father’s coffers.
But if he had, the ramifications were truly stunning. The thought of Roland of Chevington actually being the Earl of Sedgwick, bought title though it must have been, made his head spin in ways he wasn’t entirely comfortable with. Roland couldn’t have known Tess in the past, and he surely wouldn’t have gone to the Future with the express purpose of meeting her and giving her Sedgwick.
Surely.
John supposed that if he’d been a more romantic sort of lad, he might have entertained the idea that perhaps Roland had used the gift of Sedgwick for Tess to bring them together, but that seemed altogether too fanciful, even for him.
Everard, however, wasn’t above any number of schemes, impossible or not. He had never been in his father’s favor, never had gold in his hand for longer than it took him to find the nearest inn, and would have happily plundered his father’s coffers if he’d had the chance. If he had, eight years ago, understood the missive he’d been given and precisely what it meant, he would have no doubt used the time gate then and there, hoping to find more accessible coffers to delve into. The thing was, though, if Everard had managed to find himself in the Future, he never would have left it. The riches were too tantalizing and the marvels, even for a lad of as little true wit as Everard, too mesmerizing to trade again for the simplicity of medieval England.
Besides, Everard was still in the past, a thing John knew because apparently Montgomery had dealt with the lout not two months earlier.
Unless Everard had forced the gate to bend to his will. If that was true, then he might have used it time and time again, accustomed himself to future mores, then decided to come back to the past to annoy Montgomery.
John drew his gloved hand over his eyes. That made no sense, but he wasn’t sure making sense was anything any of those from Chevington did on a regular basis.