by Lynn Kurland
He was silent for a moment. “Then you had actually considered coming home? To me?”
“Kendrick, I forgave you a week ago,” she said softly. “Everything you said was true. You did what you had to do. You were out to destroy that last faceless Buchanan. I shouldn’t have taken it personally.”
“I’m sorry, Genevieve. I wish to heaven you knew how very sorry.”
“It’s forgotten, Kendrick.”
“If I had known you, I never would have done it.”
“If you had known me, you wouldn’t have had to.”
His soft chuckle rumbled over the line. “Are you telling me a mere crooking of my finger would have brought you running?”
At least his arrogance was still intact. “You’re pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
“ ’Tis merely a bluff to hide my insecurities.”
“Kendrick, I don’t think you have any.”
“Until you’re back home where you belong, I daresay you’re wrong. Leave the car in London and take the train home. I’ll send someone down after it later.”
“I still have some things to buy.”
“Christmas presents?”
“Would you let me stay another day or two if I said yes?”
“That all depends on what sorts of gifts you plan to purchase for me. Only twenty-eight more shopping days, you know.”
“Like you really need anything,” she teased.
“What I need is you,” he said, his voice suddenly husky. “Hurry home, Gen.”
“Missing a Buchanan?” she whispered. “Kendrick, you’re going soft in your old age.”
“If it were possible, you’d be a de Piaget before you knew it.” He sighed. “Perhaps ‘tis fitting that I love the last Buchanan the most. My mother would have thought it romantic.”
Genevieve closed her eyes as she listened to the low, soothing sound of his voice. How easy it was to imagine he was her flesh-and-blood lover, whispering promises to her in the dark.
“Gen?”
“Yes?”
“You know, I can be a very chivalrous knight when the circumstances call for it.”
“Does this mean you’re going to woo me, Kendrick?”
“Come home and see.”
“I can hardly wait.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone for so long that she wondered if he had regretted his words.
“Kendrick?”
“I’m still here,” he said quietly. “Genevieve, you know what you’re getting in for, don’t you?”
“I’ll survive.”
He was silent for some time. “Gen, perhaps it would be well if you rethought this. It isn’t as though I have much to offer.”
“Stop it—”
“I could never give you comfort at night, a family—”
“Kendrick, I said stop!”
He paused only for a moment. “I don’t even think we could find a priest daft enough to wed us.”
“Kendrick, if you don’t shut up right now, I’ll hang up and take the phone off the hook.”
He was conspicuously silent.
“Those things don’t matter to me.”
“You cannot mean that.”
“Kendrick, somehow it will all work out. Don’t give up before we’ve even given it a try.”
“Is that a proposal, my lady?”
“Jerk. You’re the one who’s supposed to do that.”
“Make haste on your return and see what St. Nicholas slips in your stocking.”
Genevieve felt a laugh bubble up inside her. “You really are a romantic soul, aren’t you?”
“I come from romantic stock. Now, do you want to continue this expensive conversation or do you have other things to see to, such as packing?”
“I’ll leave day after tomorrow. And this is on your bill. Let’s talk some more.”
He grunted. “I’ll tell you of how I passed my time and perhaps that will inspire you to finish your shopping with all due haste.”
Genevieve rolled on her side with the phone under her ear and grinned as her brave knight outlined in the most glorious of detail all the hellish hours he had passed since her abrupt departure.
She pointedly ignored the reality of her situation. For now, Kendrick was as real as any other man and the caress of his voice was the most wonderful thing she had ever felt. It was as if he were kissing her mouth with gentle lips, touching her with strong, callused fingers, holding her close to a body as real and tangible as her own.
She’d face the truth later.
And hope to survive.
Chapter Sixteen
Genevieve peered into the glass case and frowned at the choices there. “Don’t you have anything less conservative?” she asked the saleswoman. “I’d even settle for plaid at this point.”
The saleswoman smiled. “Trying to get your father into the swing of things?”
“My butler.”
“Ah, then perhaps something truly daring.” She reached in and pulled out a black watch plaid bow tie. “Very adventurous.”
Genevieve suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. “I’ll take that one too, but haven’t you got anything livelier? Like tiger stripes or polka dots? He needs a walk on the wild side.”
A half hour later, Genevieve left the department store. In her shopping bag were half a dozen bow ties of various levels of wildness, from black watch plaid to a cute little paisley she was sure Worthington would hate on first sight. She could hardly wait to give it to him.
“Lady Seakirk?”
She almost didn’t look up, then she realized that, for better or worse, Lady Seakirk was who she’d become. Bryan McShane was standing in front of her, looking as if he’d seen a ghost. What she wanted to do was give him a good old-fashioned tongue-lashing, but she stopped herself. What good would it do? Maybe it would be more fun to play dumb and let him hang himself. She had the feeling he’d do it soon enough.
“Why, Mr. McShane,” she said, smiling brightly. “What a pleasure to see you again. How are you doing?”
“Very well, thank you,” he said faintly. “Ah, perhaps you would allow me to buy you lunch? I’m interested in hearing how you’re adjusting to English country life.”
I’ll bet you are, Genevieve thought with a smirk. Shame on him for sending a poor, innocent girl into a lion’s den. Genevieve smiled as she listened with only half an ear to Mr. McShane’s ramblings. Fortunately the lion in her den just happened to be the most wonderful man ever created. Genevieve was tempted to give Bryan a kiss right there in the street.
“Here we are,” he said, indicating an exclusive-looking restaurant. “My treat.”
I should hope so. He’d made enough money off Kendrick to eat breakfast, lunch and dinner in this place for the rest of his life. Maybe it was time Kendrick looked for a cheaper attorney, now that he wasn’t head-hunting any more Buchanans.
Genevieve settled into her chair and smiled at the lawyer.
“How is business?” she asked.
Bryan looked as though he’d just gone bankrupt. “Ah, I need to slip away and make a phone call. If you’ll excuse me?”
He rose, beating another of his hasty retreats. Typical, Genevieve noted, remembering how quickly he’d bolted after dropping her off at Seakirk.
Bryan returned with just as much haste, but looked decidedly better. He took his seat and gave her a smile.
“Seakirk seems to agree with you,” he said, sipping at his water and watching her closely.
“I can hardly believe I almost passed it up. I’ll be eternally grateful to you for tracking me down.”
Bryan squirmed a bit. “It was nothing, really. I’m simply relieved to know that the situation has worked out so well. I had heard rumors that the keep had a quirk or two.” He looked at her from under his eyelashes. “Have you noticed anything odd?”
“What castle doesn’t have a few quirks?” she asked, trying not to laugh. “There’s nothing at Seakirk that I can’t handle. And I’
m already planning a bit of restoration work on the inside. The next time you’re in the area, feel free to drop by. I’ll give you the grand tour.”
“That would be very kind.”
And that was that. They ate their lunch making polite small talk. Genevieve knew no more about Bryan when she left the restaurant than she had when she entered. It was just as well. She’d actually thought him to be not too bad-looking when she first met him. Wimpy, but not too bad. Now he struck her as being a very nervous, very edgy little man with small dreams and an even smaller imagination.
Then again, compared to Kendrick, who wouldn’t be?
Two hours (and a few stores) later, she made her way to her hotel. What she wanted was a hot shower, a hot cup of tea and a phone call from Kendrick, not necessarily in that order. Then she’d go to bed early so she could start back first thing in the morning. Kendrick’s Christmas present was set to arrive by the end of the week and she wanted to be home before he saw it. She knew if she weren’t there when it arrived, she would find Kendrick trying to open the thing himself. He would be transparent for a month as penalty. The computer had been horribly expensive, but she hadn’t blinked when she’d plunked down the money for it. It was state-of-the-art technology, allowing the user to speak his commands instead of typing them in. Money had spoken loudly and she’d even been introduced to the programmer and been offered a few test games for her trouble.
She had sent all of her other purchases home too, finding that taking advantage of the services offered the idle rich was a sweet thing indeed. All she had to do was pack the few clothes she had kept out and go.
She walked into her room and closed the door behind her. Immediately the hair on the back of her neck stood up. There was someone in her room and she had the feeling it wasn’t the maid. Forcing herself to keep moving, she laid her purchases on the bed and then flicked on the light.
The room was a shambles. The bedclothes were shredded, pillow feathers scattered everywhere, furniture overturned. The mirror looked as if someone had put a sledgehammer through it.
Then she saw him. He stepped from the shadows and walked across the room, crunching the rubble underfoot. He held a rope in his hands. She had the feeling she’d be dangling from the end of it very soon.
Her “Stop or I’ll scream” came out as nothing but a squeak. An obviously very ineffectual squeak, as it didn’t deter her attacker.
Before she could do anything besides force herself not to faint, another form appeared in the room. He was dressed all in white and wielded two deadly-looking blades.
Nazir.
Just the sight of him brought the man up short. Then the Saracen came at him, shouting and waving his swords.
The man pulled out a knife and waved it menacingly. Nazir didn’t pay any attention to it, he merely continued his assault. The man stumbled backwards, tripped and hit his head on the corner of the dresser. He groaned as he fell to the floor, then slipped into unconsciousness.
“Bind him quickly, Mistress!”
Genevieve couldn’t do anything but stand there and tremble.
“Mistress, now!”
“I d—don’t know h—how,” she stammered.
“Fetch his rope. Mistress, you must do this while he is senseless!” Nazir resheathed his swords in the scabbards on his back. “Come. I will show you what to do.”
Genevieve approached. When she saw that the man was truly out, she gathered her courage in hand.
“Turn him over, Mistress. Now hold his hands together and wrap the rope around them. Yes, well-done. Now the other end around his ankles.”
Genevieve finished, then looked at her handiwork. Not a bad job for a woman on the verge of hysterics.
“Call the Master,” Nazir hissed in his ghostly voice.
Genevieve nodded and picked up the phone numbly, thanked every saint she could remember for having made the man so stupid that he didn’t cut the cord, then called Kendrick.
Worthington answered.
“Worthington, get Kendrick,” she said, her voice quavering. “Please hurry.”
Kendrick was on the line immediately. “What’s befallen you? Genevieve, what has happened?”
“Someone was in my room,” she said, her teeth beginning to chatter. “Nazir scared him and he hit his head.”
“Genevieve, I want you to hang up and ring the concierge,” Kendrick said tightly. “Tell him to send the authorities. Once you’ve done that, ring me again and I’ll wait with you.”
She made her call to the front desk and had hardly connected again with Seakirk when there was a pounding on her door.
“Go answer the door, love,” Kendrick said soothingly. “And tell Nazir to make himself scarce. He’s liable to frighten the poor bobbies to death.”
“I think he’d like that.”
“I know he would. Go on, Gen. I’ll hold for you.”
Genevieve put the phone down, then paused as she saw that Nazir looked to have every intention of remaining visible. “Nazir, you can’t let them see you. It’s just the police.”
Nazir looked at her skeptically. “I will hide behind the draperies.”
“They’ll still see you. Be a good ghost and do like Kendrick would want you to.”
I AM A GHOST, NOT A CHILD. He vanished but his grumbles hung in her mind as she hurriedly went to the door.
The police were in her room and handcuffing the unconscious man before she had a chance to explain. A pudgy, red-nosed man took her in hand.
“There, there, miss,” he said sympathetically. “I’m Inspector O’Mally, New Scotland Yard. Tell me the story from the beginning.”
“I’m on the phone,” she said, feeling a bit embarrassed. “It won’t take a moment to finish.” She retrieved the phone and put the receiver to her ear. “Kendrick?”
“Put the inspector on,” Kendrick said firmly. “I’ll settle this.”
Genevieve handed the inspector the phone, not knowing how to introduce her housemate.
“Inspector O’Mally here.” He listened for a moment, then one eyebrow went up. “She’s your fiancée?” He nodded, then sat up a bit straighter. “Of course, Your Lordship. Though I will have to ask her a few questions.” He listened some more. “It’s a bit out of the way—no, of course not. Right away, my lord. I’ll have her home in no time. Yes, I’ll put her back on.” He handed the phone back to Genevieve. “His Lordship wishes to speak again with you, my lady.”
Genevieve took the phone. “What?”
“Inspector O’Mally will bring you home.”
“All right,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
“No one could have prevented it.”
“Gen?”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she whispered.
“Say it again.”
She smiled. “I love you.”
“I’ll never hear that enough. Make haste, before I wear a trench in our great hall from pacing.”
“I’ll do my best. I’ll see you soon.”
“I’ll be the one standing on the front steps, wearing the besotted look.”
She smiled. “Thanks for the tip.”
Four hours later, they were on the road. Inspector O’Mally had brought two other men to help with the driving. Genevieve couldn’t have been happier about it. She spent most of her time gazing out the window and thinking. How odd were the quirks of fate. Just when she finally found the perfect man, providence had to throw a monkey wrench into things and make him a ghost. Though she knew she should have been weeping, she just couldn’t bring herself to do it yet. She’d shed her tears soon enough. Now was the time to imagine just how sweet it would be to see Kendrick again, to know that his smile was for her alone, to imagine all the lovely afternoons they would spend up in his den, talking and laughing softly with heads close together as lovers do.
Yes, there would be time for tears later.
Chapter Seventeen
Genevieve sighed in relief as the drawbridge lowered itself when the car approached. Even though it was barely dawn, they were expected. She leaned back against the seat and stared out the window as the car wound its way up to the inner bailey. Just a few more minutes and she would be home.
Home. How strange it was to think of a thirteenth-century castle as home. And to think of a medieval ghost as her love. She smiled to herself. Somehow it seemed perfectly normal. Would the rest of her life be just as normal? She sincerely hoped so.
The young driver looked around frantically for the sight of human beings.
“Don’t worry,” Genevieve reassured him. “Flesh-and-blood staff.”
“I heard the place was haunted,” he said in a hushed voice, as if he expected all the ghouls from hell to appear and give chase.
“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear,” she said, then she lost her train of thought as the keep rose majestically in the distance. They drove through the inner gate and into the courtyard. Genevieve let out a long, weary breath, which did nothing to settle those pesky butterflies in her stomach.
Kendrick was standing outside the hall on the steps, wearing jeans and a black leather jacket. He looked like he was shivering. More than anything, Genevieve wanted to throw her arms around him and make him warm.
She crawled from the car and tried to walk sedately across the flat stones of the courtyard. That lasted about two steps. She ran the rest of the way and came to a teetering halt on the stair below Kendrick. He waited until she’d regained her balance before he bent his head and kissed her.
She didn’t feel anything but the slightest bit of static go through her, but it was enough. She looked up at him and gave him her most brilliant smile. By golly, he looked good. His dark hair was just as long and just as unruly as ever, with a few stray bangs hanging in his eyes. His eyes were still that dusty, pale green. His face was just as handsome and his body just as drool-inducing. The difference was, he loved her.
“I’m glad you’re home,” he whispered roughly, trying to frown. “Worthington’s thoughts aren’t nearly so pleasing to me. Did you miss me?”