Stardust of Yesterday

by Lynn Kurland

  “A mere syllable to fall from her lips would be a jewel. And besides, your head is swelled enough.”

  Kendrick lunged, and Royce laughed and jumped away. Royce made Genevieve a low bow. “I must depart, fair maiden. Should you need me, I am at your service. And remember to start that list of wenches for me, if you please.” He bowed to Kendrick, then put his hand over his heart. “My lord, I bid you a very fond adieu. Your skill, as always, leaves me breathless.”

  “Oh, leave, would you?” Kendrick grumbled as he rose to his feet.

  Royce’s laughter trailed after him as he walked away. Kendrick looked down at Genevieve. “Did he behave himself?”

  “He told me how sweet you were when you were young.”

  “He must be delirious.”

  “I’m sure you were adorable and Lady Anne could never bring herself to scold you. Even when you took apart the blacksmith’s forge.”

  “She tried very hard not to laugh when my father bellowed at me.”

  Genevieve rose and smiled up at him. “I wish I had known you then.”

  “If you had, we would now be going inside and spending the afternoon in bed, for I would have wed you the moment your father let you from his house. In fact, an afternoon in bed sounds like a fine idea to me. I’ll clean up and meet you there. After all, I should have some reward for my fine performance this afternoon,” he said, nodding as if he expected her to agree with him.

  “More praise wouldn’t cut it?”

  “Nay. It must be an entire afternoon of lying next to you and gazing at your beauty. And then perhaps I’ll stay the night. But just to sleep. As if I could do anything else,” he muttered.

  “Give me a half hour, then I’ll praise you to your heart’s content. After all, you were wonderful this afternoon. I was very impressed.”

  He winked at her. “More praise along those lines would be well received later.”

  “Make it an hour then. I’ll need to make a list.”

  Kendrick entered his bedchamber much later, cleaned up from his late afternoon’s exercise, only to find his lady sound asleep. He walked around to her side of the bed, gritted his teeth and strained to pull the covers up over her. She woke just as he was using the remainder of his strength to tuck them up under her chin.

  “Thanks,” she murmured sleepily.

  “My pleasure, beloved.”

  She opened her eyes and smiled. “I love you.”

  He leaned over her and made the motion of brushing his lips over hers. “I love you, too, Gen. Go back to sleep.”

  “You’ll stay?”

  “The French army couldn’t drag me away.”

  She smiled, then slipped back into slumber. Kendrick kicked off his shoes and vaulted lightly over her to stretch out on the bed. He turned on his side and propped his head up on his palm to better look at his lady.

  Her dark hair was spread out over the pillow, looking even darker against the white of the sheet and the fairness of her skin. He let his gaze roam over her face and marveled that she thought herself not beautiful. Aye, the men she’d known had been fools indeed. Not that he was anything less than happy about that. He was pleased, ridiculously so, that she was a virgin, that no man had touched her, that had he been able to wed her, she would have belonged to him and him alone.

  One of her hands rested on the comforter, her slender fingers relaxed and uncurled. If he could, he would have put his hands over hers and enjoyed the feel of her slight fingers intertwined with his. The gentleness he would have used as he would have drawn both her hands into his, then placed them about his waist! Aye, Genevieve would have needed gentleness in her wooing, so that he did not intimidate her. What he would have given to have had but an hour to spend with her in mortality!

  Would he merely kiss her, caress her mouth with his, tease her tongue into joining his in a mating dance? Or would his self-control shatter and leave him carrying her to his bed, to love her fully, possess her completely?

  Or would it be enough to touch her hand? To trail his callused fingers across her palm, then over the softness of her wrist? For once, to know that her skin was truly as smooth as it looked? He closed his eyes briefly and prayed for a miracle. Just once. Just a simple touch.

  He stretched out his hand. He left it over hers for several moments, imagining how it would feel to lower his palm and have it cover her hand, not go through it. He could imagine feeling the ridge of her knuckles, the warmth of her skin, the sinews and tendons between her fingers. Now if only he could feel it in truth.

  He lowered his hand.

  And for a single, boundary-shattering moment, he thought he felt resistance.

  Then his hand went through hers and disappeared inside the blanket. He pulled it free as if he’d been burned. He rolled away and cursed silently as an uncomfortable stinging began behind his eyes. Fool. Dolt. As if you thought things would magically become different!

  “Kendrick?”

  He cleared his throat roughly. “What?”

  “Are you cold?” she murmured. “You look like you’re shivering.”

  “Why in the world would I be cold when I haven’t a body with which to feel a chill?” he barked.

  Silence.

  Kendrick groaned and turned to face her.

  “I’m sorry, love,” he whispered hoarsely. “I didn’t mean to shout.”

  She shook her head, then leaned back and blew out the candle on the nightstand. By the faint light of the fire he saw her weary smile as she faced him again.

  “We’ve both had a long day and we’re tired.”

  “Aye,” he agreed.

  “Things will look better in the morning.”

  “Aye.”

  But he sincerely doubted it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Kendrick stood in the shadows of the great hall and watched the party in progress. It had been Genevieve’s idea, this reviving of the old customary Christmas celebrations. Kendrick had found himself going along with it, simply because it reminded him of home, and this year was the first year in centuries he had felt homesick.

  Villagers had been coming to the keep in the evenings for almost two weeks, partaking of the lord’s winter stores as they would have in the old days. Genevieve left the lord’s chair empty each night and sat down in the chair next to it, as would have been her place had things been a bit different. Most of the villagers thought her daft. A few, like Mistress Adelaide, thought her actions to be hopelessly romantic. Kendrick had eavesdropped on the good woman when she babbled for a solid evening about the tenderness of the gesture. Little did the villagers know that Kendrick had been sitting in that chair off and on for almost a fortnight, keeping himself invisible.

  Genevieve had known the moment he first sat down. He’d spent the rest of the evenings since, whispering into her ear. She’d blushed at his less-than-gentlemanly suggestions and smiled at his words of love. It had satisfied him.

  At first.

  Now, things were different. This was Christmas Eve. He should have been in that chair next to her. Instead, he stood in the shadows, like a misbegotten stableboy too ashamed to show himself. He ground his teeth in frustration. Never had he been so dissatisfied with his unlife.

  No longer. He could bear it no longer. He’d stewed and fumed and raged for three weeks since the night he had tried to touch his love. He was past reason, past restraint. He would take his rightful place at the table and when the guests were gone, he would take his lady upstairs and give her the gift he had purchased her and ask her the appropriate question. The time for action had come.

  Without giving it another thought, he strode from the shadows, stepped up on the dais and walked around the table. Worthington hastily pulled out the chair and Kendrick sat down.

  The silence in the hall was deafening.

  He felt the eyes of every soul there on him. That made him want to squirm, but he’d come too far to turn back now. He set his jaw and looked at his lady, daring her to say anything against his behav
ior.

  Genevieve merely smiled.

  “Good evening, my lord Seakirk.”

  He nodded imperiously.

  Her smile deepened. “Your guests have arrived, my love.”

  “Aye, I can see that,” he nodded again, feeling suddenly unwilling to look anywhere but in her eyes. By the saints, had he gone daft?

  “Perhaps you should say a few words. In welcome.”

  The chair was far enough away from the table that Kendrick could stand without standing through it. He rose to his feet and let his gaze sweep over the crowd.

  Half the group fled. Kendrick might have laughed at the scurrying for the door, but it actually hurt his feelings quite a bit. As if he had planned to capture them all and slow-roast them in the hearth!

  He opened his mouth to call them back, then shut it. His pride was stung, but it was still there. If they wanted to leave, damn them, then they could. Whoever had the courage to remain would hear his flowery speech and partake of his finest food and drink. The rest of them could go to hell.

  The hall door banged shut. Then there was silence. Kendrick looked at the score or two of souls who remained, staring at him with their jaws slack and their eyes wide. They were older folk from the village, along with a few young men and women. Kendrick watched as the remaining villagers got hold of themselves. He was faintly impressed but knew he probably shouldn’t have been. The older ones were past being surprised by anything that happened within Seakirk’s gates and the young ones were impressionable enough to find it intriguing. Hopefully. At least none of the remaining folk had fainted, though Mistress Adelaide was gazing at him with something akin to worship.

  And then, all of the sudden, words deserted him.

  This should have been something that came naturally to him. After all, he’d heard his father and grandfather make speeches of this kind numerous times. He’d rehearsed his own speech when the king had awarded him Seakirk, knowing that soon Seakirk would be his and it would be his duty to welcome guests to his hall.

  And now, this was truly his hall. His lady sat at his side, watching him with love in her eyes. Folk who would have been his peasants, his responsibility in another time, were gathered below the high table, watching him, waiting for some gem of wisdom to fall from his lips.

  He cleared his throat.

  “I bid you welcome, friends,” he began, wanting to wipe his hands on his thighs. Instead, he clasped them behind his back. “With the crowd having thinned so rapidly, there should be an abundance of food and drink for your pleasure.” A few of the younger ones grinned at that. The old ones regarded him with the smiles the old reserve for use while indulging young, arrogant men making speeches. Kendrick felt himself begin to relax. There was a bit of respect in their faces too. Aye, the evening wasn’t a complete failure after all. He was lord of Seakirk and ‘twas obvious that most people thought of him as such. He gave them his most lordly smile. “Make merry, friends, while the evening lasts. Worthington, see to the minstrels and such, that my guests might be entertained.”

  With that, he sat down, stretched his legs out and assumed the lordly pose his father and grandfather had always assumed at such significant moments. Damnation, but it felt fine!

  “Well done,” Genevieve whispered. “You were wonderful.”

  Kendrick smiled at his lady. “Wait until you see what I have for you later, then see what you think.”

  “Coal for my stocking?”

  “Something less personal, surely.”

  She laughed softly. “You’re a terrible tease.”

  “My lord Seakirk?” a wobbly voice whispered.

  Kendrick turned to see Adelaide standing in front of the high table, trembling like a leaf. Oh, the brave woman, coming close in spite of her fear. Kendrick gave her his most charming smile, guaranteed to make any woman over the age of ten swoon. Adelaide swooned right into Worthington’s arms. Worthington staggered, then set Adelaide back on her feet and put a goblet of wine into her hands.

  “Drink, Miss Adelaide,” Worthington instructed.

  She drank, her eyes wide over the brim of the cup. When she was finished, she straightened her girth and looked Kendrick over. Kendrick felt like laughing. Ah, but this old woman had spine!

  “A pleasure, Mistress Adelaide. My lady has told me much of the wonders in your shop. My only regret is that I cannot come see them myself.”

  Adelaide’s composure was fully regained and she stormed on ahead, as any good foot soldier would have.

  “Nonsense, my lord. I’d be pleased to bring you anything that suits your fancy. If Worthington will be so good to help me place the items in my car, I will bring you a few samples of my acquisitions. I daresay you’ll need things for the chambers you and your lady are restoring.”

  “I daresay you’re right,” Kendrick smiled. “Perhaps after the new year. And Worthington will be more than willing to aid you however he can. Won’t you, Worthington?”

  Worthington lifted one silver eyebrow and sent a look that was somewhere between a pleading and a warning. Kendrick had his suspicions that Worthington held a soft spot in his ironhanded soul for Adelaide, and that look confirmed it nicely. Kendrick merely smiled blandly.

  Worthington hrumphed. “Come, Mistress Adelaide. I will see you have a fine chair by the fire for the duration of the evening’s entertainment. Though I don’t see how a minstrel could possibly equal the spectacle we have just witnessed.”

  Kendrick would have thrown something at his steward had he been capable of it. As he wasn’t, he merely sat back and scowled. Only until the next mortal approached, however. Master Wadsworth, the parish priest, Adelaide’s brother. Ah, no crosses or holy water. With the likelihood of exorcism very slim, the evening was shaping up quite nicely.

  A successfully conducted chat with the priest was obviously all it took for the rest of the company to decide that having a spirit as a host wasn’t such a poor thing after all. Kendrick found himself besieged on all sides by villagers wanting to make his acquaintance and see for themselves who had been hiding up at the keep for so many years. He was well aware of Genevieve sitting by his side, and he felt a great amount of pride in knowing she was his lady. Her low husky voice was compelling and her smile sweet and bewitching. Kendrick was rather relieved there was no other man in the room of the right age to court her. He had the feeling he might have had competition.

  As midnight approached, the guests began to leave to attend Mass in the village. Kendrick rose long before the hall was empty and looked down at his lady. What he wouldn’t have given to have been able to escort her to Mass! He looked at her gravely.

  “Do you want to go?”

  She shook her head. “Not without you.”

  He wanted to sweep her up into his arms and carry her up the stairs. He did the next best thing. He leaned down and whispered in her ear.

  “Then let us retire to our chamber, my lady, and I will give you your gift.”

  “We have to wait until tomorrow,” she protested.

  “Nay,” he said firmly. “Mine will not wait for another dawn.”

  She looked taken aback, but followed him when he started toward the stairs. They mounted the steps in silence, then Kendrick turned the lights on as they walked down the passageway. Genevieve opened the door to the bedchamber and he allowed it. His strength was better reserved for what he planned to do shortly.

  Worthington had managed to slip off and arrange the place before the fire exactly as Kendrick had requested it. Kendrick ushered Genevieve over to the rug thrown down before the hearth, then sat across from her. He waited while she looked around the room, then waited some more for her to notice what sat on the stone of the hearth. It was small, but not so small that she shouldn’t be able to see it readily enough.

  He didn’t have to wait long. She smiled at him, then caught sight of the blue velvet box. Kendrick couldn’t have asked for a better reaction. Her mouth fell open. Her hand flew to her throat. She pointed at the box and wrenched h
er gaze back to his, her mouth working silently for a moment or two.

  “Box,” he supplied. “Ring box, if you’d rather.”

  “But…”

  “Open it,” he said, with a smile.

  Her hands shook as she picked the box up. Kendrick felt tears begin to form in his eyes. Sweet, beautiful Genevieve, who looked as if he’d just pulled the moon down and presented it to her on a silver platter.

  “Oh, Kendrick,” she breathed, “it’s beautiful.”

  He ached to hold her, to draw her over onto his lap and put his arms around her. He would have kissed away every tear that fell from her eyes, following them over her cheeks, along her jaw and down her throat. And then he would have buried his face in her hair and relished the feel of her arms around him and the sound of her breath in his ear.

  With an effort, he pushed away his foolish dreams. Take what you can have and be satisfied, Seakirk, for ‘tis all you’ll get. He tried not to berate himself for being such a fool to think he and Genevieve could actually live out their lives being this much in love and having nothing but words and glances with which to show it. By the saints, this was an impossible situation!

  He came to himself to find that Genevieve was watching him, her expression grave. He shook his head and managed a smile.

  “Forgive me,” he said quietly, “just idle thoughts.” He gestured to the box. “Does it please you?”

  “It’s the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen.”

  “Perhaps you’d care to know why I bought it?”

  She nodded.

  “You’ll have to sit up in that chair so I can kneel before you properly and tell you the tale. Will you?”

  She nodded again, then felt her way back to the chair and pulled herself up into it.

  “Take out the ring, beloved,” he said softly, rising and standing before her. “And put it in your palm. Nay, the left palm. And do not hide that right hand. ‘Tis where a betrothal ring must be worn, don’t you know?”

  “Oh, Kendrick,” she whispered, giving him a watery smile.