by Lynn Kurland
“Oh, go on,” she said, shooing him away with a good-natured smile. “Wouldn’t want to wear you out your first day.” She snatched up the pen and paper and followed him back into the den.
Kendrick was already engrossed in the game by the time she had the lid off the pen, so she started with her list first. The number of people she knew was staggering. Where to start? Fortunately she was an expert list maker and it took her little time to write down all her previous clients. Four pages later, she turned to personal acquaintances. That didn’t take up much space.
The people she had come in contact with in England were few. She started from the moment she had set foot on English soil and finished with Inspector O’Mally.
The sound of the television went off and Genevieve looked up at Kendrick with a smile.
“Halftime?”
“Aye. How goes your list?”
“Finished. I’ll start yours. Who’s first?”
“Alive or dead?”
She tried to smile. “Dead?”
“There are more ghosts rattling around on the island than you’d care to know about. We’ll dismiss them, however. The good Inspector’s constitution would not take kindly to paranormal investigation. Let’s start here. There’s Worthington—”
“Kendrick!”
“The man wants names—I’ll give him names. We’ll skip the villagers. They only believe the rumors anyhow. Now, let’s see about London.”
“London?” she echoed.
“There’s Bryan McShane, who you find so charming.”
“I do not. He’s a wimp.”
“But he’s manageable.”
“And expensive.”
“He’s intimidated. That’s the way I like him. Then there’s my banker, young master Beagley. A very honest, forthright lad. Completely trustworthy.”
“And intimidated?”
“He thinks I’m a rich recluse pretending to be nobility,” Kendrick said with a wink. “I daresay my circumstances wouldn’t matter to him if he knew of them.”
Genevieve tapped the pen against the pad. “I still think it was a fluke.”
“Perhaps.”
“You don’t agree?”
He looked at her seriously. “Out of all the rooms the man could have chosen, he chose yours? I don’t like those odds.”
“But who would want to hurt me?” she asked, aghast. “I don’t know anyone here!”
“I’m wrong,” he said quickly, soothingly. “It was probably a mistake. Let’s put the list away and we won’t think about it any more. Look, halftime’s over,” he said, flicking the sound back on. “The Dolphins are being soundly trounced.”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“I know.”
She chewed on the end of the pen for a few moments, then turned sideways on the loveseat to face him. What if there were more to it than simple coincidence? What could anyone possibly want with her? It wasn’t as though she had any money or any possessions to speak of. Had some nefarious villain sunk so low that he was willing to strip the Cole Haans off her feet? Her shoes were probably the most expensive of her belongings at the moment, other than the purchases she’d made in London.
The castle.
And the estate that went with it.
It was all in her name, wasn’t it? Though the Buchanan fortune could never come close to rivaling Kendrick’s, there was still a substantial amount of money in her name at the bank. What if someone knew that and planned to kidnap her, then hold her for ransom?
“Kendrick, where are the papers for me to sign?” The best way to assure her safety was to make sure she was worth nothing. That would give the thugs no reason to come after her.
“What?” he asked, his attention riveted to the screen.
“The papers for me to turn the castle over to you.”
He froze. Then the television went blank. He turned his head and looked at her.
“I don’t want you to sign them.”
“I think I should.”
“I forbid it,” he said, an edge to his voice.
“Why? What does it matter? You aren’t going to kick me out, are you?”
“You don’t understand,” he said, turning to face her. “I would be free. Owning the castle in truth would allow me to finally pass on, Genevieve.”
“Oh,” she said soundlessly.
“I don’t want to leave you.”
“I don’t want you to go,” she whispered.
“No more talk of that. I never should have said anything about the papers in the first place. I want you to forget I did.”
“All right,” she nodded.
“And give no more thought to the other problem. Inspector O’Mally will sort out the mystery for us.”
“You don’t think that possibly these guys are after the castle and they think they can get to it through me?”
Kendrick’s expression softened. “Nay, love. I don’t think so. I’ve had McShane working for months on those documents that we aren’t going to discuss again. I hardly think a simple criminal could conceive of such a plan, much less act on it. Now, let’s allow the good Inspector to puzzle over the problem. He seems very capable.”
She nodded and leaned her head against the back of the couch. Kendrick was right. There just wasn’t much more they could do.
The phone rang. Bryan fumbled for it as he turned and tried to make sense out of the numbers on his alarm clock. Three A.M.? Who in the world would be calling at three A.M.?
“Hello?”
“McShane,” a rough voice growled, “I’m in the cooler. Get your ass over here and get me out!”
Bryan groaned mentally and dropped his head back onto the pillow. “How in the world—”
“Some monster with a pair of bloody swords came at me from out of nowhere! You never said I’d be dealing with swords! Just the girl. I just had to get her and get out. Now look what you got me into! Get me out o’ here!”
“Calm down, Mr. Starkey. I will come immediately with bail. But your job is not finished, nor will it be until you have Miss Buchanan in hand.”
“Bloody hell, you say!” the man bellowed. “I ain’t going close to the bitch again!”
“Then, regrettably, I won’t be able to post bond. Good night, Mr. Starkey.”
Bryan hung up the phone. The lion had come out and been victorious. He hadn’t liked Starkey’s airs from the first. No, he’d have to hire another man, perhaps two, with a bit more spine.
He sighed as he rolled from the bed and headed toward the loo. Just don’t think about Maledica, lion. He doesn’t have to know about this blunder.
Though Bryan had the feeling he’d know anyway.
Chapter Eighteen
Genevieve put the finishing touches on the last of her Christmas packages. Though it was only the second week of December, she wanted to be ready. It was the first time in her life she’d had the time and the peace of mind to get ready for Christmas early. Next on her list was to introduce Kendrick and Worthington to chocolate chip cookie dough. Not cookies, but the dough. Once dough reached cookie stage, she always lost interest. Kendrick might not be able to taste the food of the gods, but she could describe it well enough for him. And then she’d have to make sugar cookies and fudge and whatever else Betty Crocker could help her come up with. Worthington was already shuddering in anticipation, though no doubt it was anticipation of the mess she would make.
She placed the last package in her trunk, then shut and locked it. After putting the key in her pocket where Kendrick couldn’t get it, she left the bedchamber and descended to the great hall. Worthington was reading the paper in front of the fire.
“Where’s Kendrick?”
“Outside, my lady. Run upstairs and fetch your cloak if you intend to join him.”
“Yes, Mother,” she sighed as she ran back up the stairs, pulled her worn pea coat from the closet and ran back down to the hall. Worthington didn’t spare her a glance as she walked by.
“I�
�d suggest gloves, my lady.”
She ignored him and continued on her way. She walked to the front door, opened it and gasped. The courtyard was back to thirteenth-century style. She walked down the steps in a daze, then realized she’d walked through someone only because the ghost laughed. She whirled around, her hand to her throat.
The man took off his helmet and pushed the mail coif back from his fair hair. His blue eyes twinkled as he smiled and made her a low bow.
“Royce of Canfield, lately of Artane, at your service, my lady.”
“Oh, hello,” she said, flustered. “I’m Genevieve.”
“I know, my lady. A pleasure it is to gaze upon your loveliness at close range. I espied you at the airport but hesitated to make myself known to you. Indeed, my lord Kendrick’s tales of your beauty do you a disservice. Your loveliness exceeds anything words could describe.”
Genevieve stared at him, openmouthed. “Wow,” she breathed. This guy sure knew how to pay a compliment.
“Nay, my lady, that is what I would ever say when gazing upon your comeliness—”
“Royce, you horse’s arse, be you gone from my lady’s side. Your stench will make her swoon.”
Genevieve didn’t connect the sound of horse’s hooves with Kendrick until she saw him sitting astride his mount not three paces from her. Genevieve looked up at him and her mouth fell open again. A ghost horse? Well, she’d seen stranger things.
“Holy moly,” she said weakly.
Kendrick winked at his captain. “That’s much more complimentary than a mere ‘wow.’ Don’t forget whom she loves, lackwit.”
“Kendrick, you buffoon, why would she choose you when you look as if you’ve recently bathed in the moat and smell just that bad?”
“I sense a slur in among those witless words.”
“I daresay you do.”
“Then I must demand satisfaction.”
“I would be pleased to give it to you.”
Kendrick smiled down at Genevieve. “Perhaps you would care to watch me dispatch this cretin in the joust?”
Genevieve couldn’t do much besides gape. Had she ever back-talked this man? He looked strong and powerful in jeans and a sweatshirt; he looked menacing and fearsome in mail with his sword at his side and a lance in his hand. How had anyone ever stood against him in battle? Anyone who had seen him bearing down on them at twenty miles an hour would have been a fool not to run for cover.
“Sit on the far side of the garden, love, under the tree. I’ve had Worthington leave a blanket or two there for your comfort. You’ll be perfectly safe. Unlike Royce.”
Genevieve hesitated. “He can’t hurt you, can he?”
“He won’t get close enough to me to accomplish that. And nay, he cannot hurt me, even if by some miracle his lance points anywhere but up at the sky as he lies on his back in a disgraceful cloud of dust.”
Royce snorted. “Do you wish to pay me now or later for not humiliating you in front of your lady?”
“Captain,” Kendrick warned, “ ’tis a dangerous path you walk.”
“Is that fear I hear in your voice, Seakirk?”
Genevieve walked away before she laughed. There wasn’t enough room in the entire expanse of the inner bailey for the two egos involved. She made her way across the dirt field, trying to remind herself that it really was the garden, then bundled up in the two blankets left for her on the bench. She sat back to watch something she had only read about in books.
There was a long wooden rail running down the field, from the back of the lists to the front. Kendrick rode down to the end of her right and turned his horse, his lance in his hand. Royce started at the end to her left. He flipped his helmet down with his lance, and his horse reared. Kendrick did the same, then their horses sprang forward. Genevieve felt the ground rumble beneath her feet and heard the pounding of hooves as Kendrick and his captain hurtled down opposite sides of the rail toward each other. They met with a tremendous clash. Royce teetered in his saddle but kept his seat.
Kendrick turned his horse, then went galloping down the railing again. This time Royce’s lance splintered, his shield went flying out of his hand and he hung on to his seat by his fingernails. Kendrick wasn’t moved. Genevieve had suspected he was good, but this was tangible proof. It was no wonder he’d made so much money jousting. She could just imagine him winning against knight after knight, then herding them all into a big group and holding them for ransom. How arrogant he must have sounded as he demanded payment for their release.
The third pass left Royce sprawled in the dirt. Kendrick didn’t even bother to help him up, probably because there was suddenly a very long line of other challengers. Royce heaved himself to his feet and trudged across the field to make her a low bow, then collapse on the bench next to her.
“He’s an arrogant whoreson, isn’t he?”
“There’s a law against self-incrimination, you know,” she said with a smile.
Royce grinned. “Ah, true love speaks. ‘Tis surely the only reason you tolerate his foul temper. I daresay I wouldn’t be equal to the task.”
She recognized a lie when she heard one. “Have you known him long?”
“We squired together, then went to war together. And we’ve shared this semblance of life for the past few centuries. Aye, I’ve known him long. But how I’ve borne him for so long is still a mystery to me.”
“You love him very much, don’t you?”
Royce coughed. “Love him? Nay, my lady. Tolerate him I do, and nothing more.”
“Knights aren’t supposed to lie.”
“Ah, then I must tell the truth, though I pray you, do not tell him, else he will tease me for it.” Royce waited for her nod before he continued. “I had only sisters in my home and when I found Kendrick, it was as if the Good Lord had held him in reserve simply to be my brother. His family was very wealthy and very important in my day, but Kendrick never made me feel as if I came from a sire any less important than his. Even when we squired together, he treated me as an equal, unlike the other lads. When we earned our spurs, I offered myself for his captain, and I’ve never regretted it. Brothers we were, and the best of friends. My deepest regret over the last seven hundred years is that I could not spend more time with him. Matilda did not even leave us that comfort.”
“And you don’t mind me elbowing my way into this?” she asked.
“Of course not,” Royce said with a grin. “You’ve improved my lord’s temper enormously. My only request is that you keep your eyes open for a maid for me, but make her as beautiful as you are and with as much spirit. I’m powerfully jealous of Kendrick’s good fortune.”
Genevieve squirmed and looked back at the field. Compliments from Kendrick still made her blush; compliments from a virtual stranger were even harder to take. She watched Kendrick ride to the far end of the jousting rail.
“He’s a very good knight, isn’t he?”
“There was none to equal him in his day, though his brother Phillip would damn me for saying so, as he thought himself to be the superior warrior.” Royce shook his head. “Kendrick possessed an arrogance Phillip could not match even on the best of days.”
“I think he’s still got it.”
“The arrogance?” Royce asked with a smile. “Aye, ‘tis true. He’s not lost any of his skill either. Watch you how he moves against these who have come to challenge him. And fine warriors they are.”
Genevieve watched as Kendrick unseated seven challengers in a row. “Did he make these guys up?”
“I beg pardon?”
“Conjure them up. Like his brother and his cousin.”
Royce smiled in amusement. “Nay, my lady, they are just as real as I or my lord. It takes them only moments to gather once they catch wind that Kendrick is training. Before you came to Seakirk they were known to mill about the lists, hoping to entice him into sallying forth and giving them a skirmish or two. Kendrick has forbid them within the gates since you arrived, but I daresay they still wait withou
t each day, hoping for a chance to unseat him.”
Genevieve swallowed uncomfortably. “Are they always here?”
“Where else would they go?”
“To haunt some other castle?” she offered.
“When the finest warrior in England resides at Seakirk? Nay, Lady Genevieve, there is no reward for going elsewhere.”
Genevieve nodded and watched Kendrick make mincemeat out of another handful of knights dressed in various colors. Kendrick was impressive, though a time or two he swayed in his saddle just as the others did, but not nearly as noticeably.
“Do they ever beat him?”
“Rarely. But when they do, pray you have something to stuff in your ears that night, for the rejoicing will go on ‘til dawn.” Royce grinned. “I don’t have to say what a foul mood that puts my lord in.”
“No, you don’t,” she said dryly. “I can just imagine.”
The line at the challenging end was thinning rapidly, and finally it came down to a man who had to be as big as Kendrick, if not bigger. Genevieve chewed on her nails as Kendrick rode against him, finding herself praying that Kendrick would win. The second pass almost unseated her love and Genevieve rose nervously.
Kendrick didn’t look at her as he thundered back down the way for the third pass. This time the black knight went tumbling back off his horse in a flurry of cloth and curses. Once he had been assisted up by his fellows, the entire group cursed Kendrick, then made their way grumbling from the lists. Genevieve sat down, relieved. Kendrick rode over to her, leaped from his horse and dropped to one knee before her. He bowed his head.
“My lady.”
Genevieve looked down at him, listening to him pant heavily. The sweat positively dripped from him. His clothes were soaked and his hair was plastered to his head.
“Ah,” Genevieve began, searching quickly for something appropriate to say, “well-done, brave knight.”
“I am your servant.”
“Great. Thanks a lot.”
Kendrick lifted his head and looked at Royce. “She’s not much on lavishing praise, is she?”