Stardust of Yesterday

by Lynn Kurland

  He went down on one knee before her, praying he wouldn’t start to weep before he’d said the speech he’d been rehearsing for a fortnight.

  “Genevieve,” he began slowly, gravely, “I’m well aware of how little I have to offer you—nay”—he said, holding up his hand—“give me leave to finish.” She nodded, but he knew she wasn’t happy with his words. Neither was he, but truth was truth and there was no sense in pretending otherwise. He took a deep breath. “I can offer you a home and my gold—anything you desire, I can provide you. These worldly goods are the only tangible things I possess.”

  “They don’t matter,” she broke in.

  He smiled dryly. “Then my castle does not please you?”

  “Kendrick, you know what I meant.”

  “Aye, I do,” he agreed. “But whether you wish for these things or not, they are yours. And along with these things of the world, I offer you my protection, such as it is. I will do anything within my power to keep you safe. There may come a time when that may mean something to both of us.”

  “I certainly hope not.”

  “I agree. Other than that, all I can offer you is my heart,” he said softly. “And my love. I will cherish you, Gen, just as much as I would had I arms to hold you and a body to love you with. Not a day will pass that I won’t tell you how deeply I love you and how much joy you’ve brought into my sorry life. Before you, there was naught but darkness. Now there is naught but light. And if I please you, if you feel the same way,” he paused and took a deep breath before he finished—and by the saints he was suddenly nervous!—“would you do me the honor of being my wife?”

  “Oh, Kendrick,” she said with a half-sob. Of happiness or grief, he couldn’t tell. She nodded, the tears streaming down her face. “Yes.”

  “Hold out your ring for me then, love,” he said. “And give me your hand.”

  “Kendrick—”

  He ignored her protests and put his fingers on the large diamond ring. It was tempting to jest about the size, that his task would have been easier had the stone been smaller, but he couldn’t. This was no time for jesting; it was time to pray he could accomplish the feat he planned.

  He poured all his energies into concentrating on the task before him. How many times in life had that concentration been what had unseated an opponent larger than he or kept him on his feet after hours of fighting in the hot Arabian sands when his very soul seemed to be escaping his skin with his sweat? Aye, this was the very same thing. Only this was so much more important. He would put Genevieve’s ring on her finger, even if doing so put him in bed for a fortnight.

  He lifted it. By the saints, it was enormous! He felt the sweat break out on his forehead and slip down his temples and cheeks. Genevieve’s hand was instantly before him. He flashed her a tight smile for her aid. She likely couldn’t see him for her tears; he definitely couldn’t see her for the blood that thundered behind his eyes. Sweat drenched his shirt, slipped down his thighs to pool at the back of his knees.

  He pushed the ring over her first knuckle. She caught the back of the ring with her thumb and started to pull.

  “Don’t,” he rasped. He met her eyes. “Don’t.”

  Her shoulders began to shake with the force of her tears. Despite that, she held her hand steady. Saints, had he never noticed before how long a woman’s finger could be? He gritted his teeth and pushed with all his strength to slip the ring over the last knuckle and into place.

  Done.

  He collapsed at her feet. She was instantly on the floor, kneeling next to him.

  “Oh, Kendrick.” She reached out to smooth the hair back from his brow, and her hand went through him. She pulled it back and wrapped her arms around herself. She closed her eyes and cried.

  It was agony to sit upright but he did it anyway, ignoring the screaming pain that went through his muscles. Obviously there was enough substance to him that pain was still possible.

  “Genevieve,” he said hoarsely. “Ah, my Gen, don’t weep so when I can’t comfort you. I beseech you.”

  She lifted her head, her hand over her mouth. Her eyes were bloodshot and her cheeks wet with her tears. She took her hand away from her mouth and hesitantly stretched it out.

  “I would give anything to touch you,” she whispered. He could feel the tightness of her throat from the strained sound of her words. “Just once, Kendrick. Just once.” She put her hand against his cheek, against the place where her hand would have rested had he been alive. “Just once.”

  “Perhaps in time,” he offered, knowing he lied but unable to say anything else. It would take a miracle.

  Her shoulders slumped. “Kendrick, you’re already pale. Come to bed.”

  He managed a wan smile, despite the tears that flowed down his cheeks. “I should exert myself thusly more often. ‘Tis obviously the way to win a place in my lady’s bed.” He put his hand over hers as it hung in midair next to his cheek. “Tell me the ring pleases you.”

  “I’ll never take it off,” she vowed. “Never.”

  “Do you love me?”

  “Desperately.”

  “Then come to bed and tell me. Come to bed, Genevieve, and we’ll turn out all the lights and talk.”

  She nodded and rose with him. “I’ll hurry.”

  He nodded as he watched her walk across the room to the bathroom. He waited until the door was closed before he turned to the hearth and hung his head.

  And wept.

  Chapter Twenty

  Genevieve stood on the battlements and shivered with the late afternoon chill. The new year had come already and brought with it nothing but grief. She looked down at the beautiful diamond that sparkled in the pale winter sun. Kendrick had touched it. She had felt him take it out of her hand, then slide it onto her finger. Why then couldn’t she feel his touch on her skin?

  She dropped her hand and fought the urge to weep. She’d done nothing but weep for the past two weeks. Though she’d tried to do it in private, she hadn’t been able to hide her lack of appetite or her red nose from her knight. His expression had become grimmer with each passing day. She hadn’t seen him smile in a week. It was intolerable! When she’d come home from London she’d known there would be tears. She hadn’t anticipated just how many, though. What a terrible miscalculation. It might have been better to not have had him at all than to have him this way.

  She put her hand to her mouth in horror. Had she actually thought something so dreadful? She turned and ran from the battlements. A distraction. She had to have some kind of distraction. Kendrick spent most of his waking hours in the lists. Maybe some kind of exercise would soothe her. It couldn’t hurt to try.

  Kendrick had shown her the back way out of the keep, through the secret tunnel and out from under the outer bailey wall. The path down to the beach was steep but manageable. She picked her way among the rocks, ignoring the mist, ignoring the bitter cold. A run in the sand. That would keep her mind on her feet and off her life.

  She ran until she was gasping for air and her muscles were on fire. The mist had turned to rain and it beat down on her mercilessly. She didn’t care. The sand was cold and wet under her as she dropped to her hands and knees and panted. When had she become so out of shape?

  “So the quarry comes to us.”

  Genevieve looked up quickly and paled. Two men stood there, dressed in black, their faces hard with wickedness. One of them reached for her and she flung herself backwards, scrambling for her feet.

  “Oh, no ye don’t, missy,” the other said, blocking her way.

  Genevieve changed directions and threw herself forward, managing to slip between the men. She jumped to her feet and fled.

  “Let ‘er run,” one of the men said. “I could use the air.

  ’Aven’t ye noticed the fine sea air up ‘ere, Davy?”

  Kendrick! Genevieve screamed silently. She had the mental picture of him jerking his attention away from the knight who thundered toward him in the lists; Kendrick flew off the back of h
is horse and landed in the mud on his back, his feet in the air, thanks to the lance catching him full in the chest. She saw him jump to his feet, heard him shout for Nazir and for the other ghosts haunting the outer bailey.

  To arms! he shouted. To me, lads! Seakirk!

  Genevieve cried out in pain as her pursuers tired of the play and grabbed her by the hair. The motion almost snapped her neck. She was flung to the ground and the men stood over her, laughing.

  “Nice piece, ain’t she, Davy? I says we ‘ave ‘er now, deliver ‘er later. What says ye?”

  The other man grinned, revealing a toothless smile. “I’m for ye, Al.”

  Al slapped the other man. “I told ye not to use me name, ye bugger! ‘Ave ye gone mad?”

  A mist rose up around them suddenly. The men whirled around in surprise, looking for what had blocked the sun so suddenly and completely.

  Gen, on your hands and knees to your left. As far and quickly as you can!

  She didn’t have to hear that twice. Al and Davy had their knives drawn and she didn’t exactly relish the idea of being impaled by one. She scrambled away on her hands and knees, screaming as a blade buried itself in the sand next to her hand. She changed directions and fled until she met water and could go no further. She lay flat on the sand in the surf and prayed.

  The sounds of battle raged all around her and the mist was so thick she couldn’t see the sun. Ghostly shapes melted in and out of the darkness, men in full battle gear, waving their swords and shouting with wraithlike voices. Al’s and Davy’s screams were lost in the clamor. Genevieve put her hands over her head and prayed that they would mistake her for driftwood and leave her alone. Why wasn’t Worthington calling the police?

  The screams faded in time and the mist began to clear. She lifted her head and shrieked at the dark figure standing above her with a shotgun in his hand. Then the sun came through the clouds and she saw the glint of silver hair.

  “My lady, come out of the water. You’ll catch a chill.”

  She jerked on Worthington’s trousers. “Get down,” she hissed. “You’ll get killed!”

  Worthington took her hand and helped her up. “My lady, the ruffians are seen to. Let His Lordship see you back to the house while I wait here for the authorities.”

  Kendrick came out of the mist, bloodied from head to toe. She gasped and he swore. Instantly he was back in jeans and sweatshirt.

  “Just for show,” he said soothingly. “Back to the house, Gen, and into a hot bath. Worthington will see to the prisoners. Worthington, make sure the authorities hold them until Inspector O’Mally can question them. If they seem unwilling to talk, by all means have them brought back here. I daresay I could persuade them to give us the information we need.”

  Kendrick turned a frown on her as they walked back to the castle. “What in heaven’s name were you thinking to come alone here?” he demanded. “Good Lord, Genevieve, ‘twas a foolish notion!”

  She stopped halfway up the path and glared at him. “I had to walk. You train. Why can’t I do the same?”

  “Because I can take care of myself!”

  “So can I.”

  “So I see by this morning’s events. You will not leave again, Genevieve, without telling me.”

  “I don’t have to answer to you—”

  “How am I to protect you when I don’t know where you are!”

  “Oh, just leave me alone,” she moaned miserably, pushing through him and stumbling up the path. “Just leave me alone!” As soon as she was on solid ground, she ran through the tunnel, through the servants’ quarters and up the rest of the way to her room. She slammed the door behind her, ran to the bathroom and locked the door behind her. Not that a locked door would have stopped Kendrick.

  She dropped her face into her hands and shuddered. As if her life wasn’t hard enough with just dealing with her love! Now to have men chasing her, even in her own back yard? She groaned as she pushed away from the door and dragged her soggy body over to the tub.

  How much worse could it possibly get?

  Kendrick sat in his study, his feet propped up on the stool, his head back against the couch. He’d been sitting in the same place for the past twelve hours, most of the night, waiting for Genevieve to come to him. It had been a vain effort. She had taken a bath, then gone to bed. He couldn’t bear to go comfort her. His fear was still too close to the surface for that.

  What a disaster. He’d come within inches of losing Genevieve without even being aware of it. And rescuing her had only made matters worse! He was well aware of the ache she felt, the hunger to be held, to be gathered close and kept safe. He understood completely; there were no words to describe how desperately he wished he could oblige her.

  A tap sounded on the door. He looked up in surprise. Why, it wasn’t even dawn yet. What in the world would she be doing up? He tilted his head back.

  “Genevieve?”

  The door opened and she looked in. “Still speaking to me?”

  He smiled, pained. “Of course, love. By the saints, you’re up early!”

  She sighed and closed the door behind her. More fetching nightclothes with the slick feet, only this time in green. What he wouldn’t have given to have hands with which to pull them off her! She padded over to the couch and sat down. Almost on top of him. Kendrick managed a faint smile. She was obviously so distracted she didn’t know what she was doing. Even though she wore his ring on her finger, she was still hopelessly shy. Nay, her usual place was a good hand’s breadth away. Marriage likely wouldn’t change that any.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” she whispered, lifting her face to his. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I was rude.”

  “You were upset. I understand.”

  “I just needed to get out.”

  “I understand, Gen,” he said softly.

  “Will we survive this? Are you sure you don’t want me to sign the papers—”

  “Absolutely not!” He took a deep breath and released it slowly. “I’ll take what I have with you. It will be enough.”

  “But—”

  “ ’Tis a far sight better than the alternative.”

  She chewed on her lip as she looked up at him. “But you’ve been so miserable.”

  “Winter makes me moody.”

  “It does not.”

  He dragged his hand through his hair. “I’ve spent far too much time wishing for what I cannot have, my love. I’ll stop. Perhaps later today we’ll take up our work on the other chambers again. A distraction is likely what will serve us best for now. And you’ve a wedding to plan, you know. I’ve always thought June to be a fine month for nuptials.”

  She looked down. “When did you plan to marry Matilda?”

  “The dead of winter.”

  That brought a smile to her lips, though she didn’t raise her head far enough for him to catch the full effect. “June it is then, my lord.”

  “Fetch that blanket, my sweet, and come curl up next to me. Shall I wake Worthington and have him build up the fire?”

  “No, it’s fine,” she said, rising and snatching the blanket off the chair near the door. “Let’s watch television, Kendrick. I need the distraction.”

  “It’s too early for anything good.”

  “I don’t care,” she said, resuming her place next to him. “Just find something.”

  “I taped the Raiders game. Should we watch it?”

  “Later, Kendrick. It’s not even breakfast yet. I can’t watch football until after I’ve had something to give me energy.”

  “All right then, love. You take the remote.”

  “Control. I like that.”

  “I knew you would.”

  She drew the blanket around her, her eyes never leaving his.

  “You are a wonderful man.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “Read my mind. I’m too tired to talk now.”

  He leaned back against the couch and relented. He’d wring a few compliments out of her later when she was eng
rossed in something else. The sooner she forgot about her fright yesterday, the better off she’d be. The Inspector would likely show up before noon, and Kendrick didn’t want her thinking about that until absolutely necessary.

  “Look,” she said breathlessly.

  Kendrick looked at the screen and rolled his eyes. “It’s a cartoon. Gen, surely there’s some football on somewhere in the world. This isn’t even a real show.”

  “It’s Cinderella. Possibly the greatest love story of all time.”

  “The greatest?”

  She turned and looked at him. “Besides ours.”

  Kendrick’s chest tightened at the grave smile she wore. “Aye,” he said softly, “besides ours.”

  “Now, be quiet and watch. The prince is very handsome.”

  “More handsome than I?”

  “No one is more handsome than you,” she said, her eyes glued to the screen.

  He gave in. Had he wished for a distraction? Well, wishes certainly seemed to be coming true at the moment. It was readily apparent that he wasn’t going to have Genevieve’s full attention until the show was over. Just as well. She was already sighing that romantic sigh of hers, and he had the feeling this cartoon would put her in a fine mood. He fully intended to take advantage of it. Perhaps it would be just the thing to cure him of his own foulness.

  The thought of a nap appealed to him until he started to watch the show. The mice with their squeaky voices made him grin and the sight of the fairy godmother made him laugh. There was a caricature of Adelaide, up on the screen for all to see. A pity she wasn’t a fairy godmother in truth. Kendrick knew just the wish he would ask for.

  Ah, such sweet romance. Tears streamed down Genevieve’s face as the show ended and Kendrick blinked furiously to hide his own telltale mistiness. The saints preserve him, he was weeping over a cartoon! He turned to his lady and smiled at her sniffles.

  “My Gen, you’ve such a soft heart.”

  “It’s so beautiful,” she said, looking up at him with dreamy eyes. “Don’t you think?”

  “I do.” Damn, was he truly going to weep? He cleared his throat gruffly. “Now can I watch the Raiders?”

  She leaned her head back against his arm. “Go ahead. Wake me up when it’s over.”