Stardust of Yesterday

by Lynn Kurland

  “Kendrick?”

  He set her down and locked the library door behind him. “Aye?”

  “I love you, you know.”

  He smiled and bent his head to kiss her. “Aye, I know. And I love you.”

  “Do you think our lives will finally get down to normal now?”

  He drew her close and rested his chin atop her head. “Aye, my love, I do.”

  His lady snuggled closer and wrapped her arms around him. Kendrick closed his eyes and smiled. From now on, nothing but happiness, nothing but days and nights of loving, nothing but Genevieve filling his life with joy.

  Ah, how sweet were the gifts he’d been given.

  Epilogue

  Considering all the people gathered in the great hall, there should have been an enormous amount of noise. Instead, there was silence, except for the occasional creak of a chair or a deep sigh. The souls, housed in bodies or not as the case might be, were awaiting tidings, and praying those tidings would be good ones. It had been a night of waiting, of listening first to the muffled moans of pain that carried down to the hall, then straining to hear any sound at all.

  Suddenly there was the sound of swiftly descending feet, and a disheveled, imperfectly groomed Worthington appeared at the bottom of the steps, his weathered face alight with pride and relief.

  “A man-child,” he announced, as boastfully as if he’d sired and birthed the lad himself.

  “Worthington!”

  The bellow from upstairs sent Worthington scurrying out of sight again.

  The crowd wasn’t sure if relief or more praying was called for. Mistress Adelaide began to weep.

  Only a score of moments passed before the footsteps were heard again. Worthington appeared, looking even more disheveled than before.

  “Another boy! Her Ladyship has borne His Lordship a pair of lads!”

  “Worthington!”

  The crowd, to a soul, leaped to its feet and began to pace. Two children? And another bellow? Then the folk held their breath as Worthington appeared a third time.

  “Another babe. A lad. God help me if there’s another!”

  Worthington pitched forward and hit the floor with a weary thump. Mistress Adelaide, used to dealing with crises of all sorts and varieties after enduring Nazir for almost a month, took charge and saw to the emptying of the hall and the preparation of a nourishing meal for Her Ladyship. It was only after it had been sent up that she roused her beau and told him that he would only have three young charges to look after.

  Worthington sighed in relief.

  Genevieve woke, weary but happy. She looked to her left and saw Kendrick sitting in a comfortable chair, asleep. He was holding onto his three week-old sons, one in his left arm, one in the crook of his right and the other on his thighs. Genevieve turned onto her side, surprised at how easily she did it. Natural childbirth hadn’t been in her plans but her labor had started before she could get to the hospital. The doctor had been sent for and had arrived almost immediately, half the village trailing in his wake.

  Triplets hadn’t been in her plans either, as she had been assured she only carried twins. Kendrick had been so surprised, he’d come close to tearing his hair out. He hadn’t been much help, as he had spent more of his time bellowing at the doctor than helping her with her breathing. But she’d understood it had been his fear for her that had made him so irrational, and loved him all the more for it.

  She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Uncomfortable, but not painful. She reached over and touched Kendrick’s knee.

  “Sweetheart?”

  He opened his eyes immediately and sat up, causing two of his sleeping sons to make little complaining snorts. Genevieve took number three and cradled him close, but her eyes were on her husband.

  “You need to come lie down.”

  Kendrick adjusted his babes. “I’m bonding, Gen.”

  “You’re snoring, love. None of us can sleep for all the noise.”

  “The lads seem to be holding up well.”

  Genevieve smiled. They were. They were beautiful babies, with abundant dark hair and delightfully soft little faces that Kendrick boasted resembled him remarkably well at such a tender age. She leaned forward gingerly and kissed her husband.

  “They look more like you with every passing hour. And they certainly sound like you when they’re bellowing for their supper.”

  “Aye,” Kendrick said, with a proud grin. “Fine, strong sons.”

  “We’ll christen them tomorrow?”

  “Nay, Genevieve. Next week, when you’re better rested. Just because I have three wee ones to keep in line now doesn’t mean you’ll escape my scrutiny. You’ll stay in bed until I think you sound enough to rise. I’m perfectly content to stay here and see that you obey me.”

  He certainly seemed to be. He hadn’t left her side since the birth. Then again, he’d been by her side consistently since she’d told him she was pregnant. She hadn’t complained and didn’t intend to start now.

  “Next week, then,” she agreed.

  “Lie back down, Gen. The lads and I will join you for a nap. And perhaps lunch later.”

  Genevieve lay back down and rested her youngest son next to her. Kendrick brought the other babies over and placed them next to their brother. He stretched out his long form on the bed and reached over to take her hand.

  “Thank you.”

  She smiled. “You’re pleased with them?”

  “Aye. Royce is already making swords—”

  “Kendrick!”

  He grinned. “Wooden ones, love. And I promise I’ll not let them have them ‘til they’re ready, though I was but three when I first held one.”

  She put his palm against her cheek. “You seem to have survived well enough, I guess.”

  “I’ll watch over the lads well.” He leaned over the lads in question and kissed her softly. “Are you happy, my Gen? Happy you wed me?”

  “You know I am.”

  “And you’re happy with our sons?”

  “Very.”

  He kissed her again, then lay his head back down. “At this rate, we might produce a dozen children in no time at all.”

  “Don’t even think it. They’d all be boys and nag me just as badly as their father does.”

  “You love my nagging, you love my arrogance and you love my scowls.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I know it.”

  She looked at him closely. “Don’t tell me you found a way to read my mind again.”

  He grinned. “I might have. I miss that, you know. I loved watching you dream about me.”

  “Would you trade that for what you have now?”

  “You know the answer to that. I’m blind with love for my lady and deeply humbled at the gift she’s just recently given me. There is nothing in this life or the next that could replace that.”

  Genevieve looked at her husband and felt love well up in her heart for the adorable, grumbly, impossible knight who had turned her life upside down, then righted it, planting himself square in the middle of her heart. Nothing could make her move him. He was her joy and she wouldn’t have traded him for anything.

  She watched as he closed his eyes, his fingers still intertwined with hers. His arm rested lightly over their sons, Robin, Phillip and Jason; named after the men in Kendrick’s family. Already Kendrick had chosen godfathers for the boys: Royce, Nazir and Worthington. Worthington was already clucking over young Jason like a mother hen. Genevieve had the feeling the youngest of the triplets would be by far the most spoiled. Royce and Nazir were far more concerned about their godsons’ training than whether or not the babes were dressed warmly or held often enough. Kendrick oversaw the group of six with the authority of a king.

  Not even their unearthly garrison had been idle. Genevieve had woken one afternoon to find her room filled with illusory flowers, courtesy of Sir Stephen. Guards, usually headed up by the fierce Colin of Berkhamshire, stood at her door when Kendrick was anywhere bu
t by her side. Robert of Conyers had even begged an audience with her the day before when her sons had been wailing for all they were worth and she’d been near tears trying to soothe them. He’d produced a lute and sung sweetly until the boys were quieted. Having a ghostly garrison at her disposal was becoming altogether too convenient.

  She came to herself when she realized Kendrick was staring at her. She smiled reflexively. “What?”

  “You’re too far away,” he said. “My lads are but a week old and already I’m jealous of them.”

  Somehow, that didn’t bother her that much, perhaps because she knew it wasn’t exactly the truth. Kendrick adored his sons. But it was also rather nice to have him missing her. She pulled her hand from his.

  “Put the pillows where you’re lying. That will keep them from rolling off the bed. I can move over a bit.”

  “Not too much. I’ve a mind to snuggle close to you.”

  Genevieve smiled as he rose and made a barrier with a pillow. He moved his sons away from her, then walked around the bed and lifted her over. Genevieve closed her eyes and smiled as he settled down behind her and wrapped his arm around her waist. His chest was warm against her back and his arm heavy and secure.

  “Genevieve?”

  “Yes, husband.”

  “Do you remember how I told you a few months back that I thought our lives would finally settle down?”

  “I do.”

  He paused. “I daresay it isn’t going to happen. Will that grieve you?”

  When something not normal included triplet boys, a garrison of ghosts, a despotic butler, a petulant Saracen, a raucous guard captain and a husband who was the most chivalrous knight ever created, a man who loved her and cherished her more than she ever dreamed anyone could—would that grieve her?

  “Not in the least, my lord. Not in the least.”

  Turn the page for a preview,

  of Lynn Kurland’s

  novel…

  THE VERY THOUGHT OF YOU

  Available in paperback

  from Berkley Books

  THE HIGHLANDS, SCOTLAND

  FEBRUARY 1998

  THE HORSE SCRUNCHED UP HIS NOSE, TOSSED HIS HEAD IN obvious discomfort, and then sneezed.

  Alexander Smith opened his mouth to curse, then realized the precariousness of his situation. He grasped the top edge of the stall door and very deliberately clamped his lips shut. He blinked furiously to clear his eyes of a substance he didn’t want to examine too closely.

  He should have stayed in bed.

  He’d known that, of course, from the moment he’d woken. His first clue had been the sound of rain on the roof—day fifty-six of the Scottish deluge. His next warning had been shivering through a cold shower, courtesy of his younger brother. The final straw had been counting on a breakfast of sausage, eggs, and fried potatoes only to find nothing but dangerously aged cottage cheese and on-the-verge-of-turning-green bread in the fridge. By the grease stains on his brother’s chin, Alex had known immediately where to lay the blame.

  And now this.

  He looked down at his snotty shirt and wondered just how long it would take for it to crust over so he wouldn’t drip all over the house.

  His horse, looking much more comfortable and rather contrite, bumped him companionably with his nose.

  “Beast, Beast,” Alex said, carefully dragging his sleeve across his mouth, “do you really think I can go out looking like this? What if we run into some beautiful Scottish girl? What kind of impression are we going to make?”

  Beast ducked his head in obvious shame.

  Alex grunted. “That’s right. Well, have a nice day. I’m sure you will, now you can breathe again. I’m going back to bed.”

  It seemed the safest alternative.

  He wiped his face with a patch of clean shirttail, then left the stables and walked across the courtyard. The castle rose up before him, an impenetrable wall of gray stone relieved only by a few windows on the second floor. His brother-in-law Jamie had spent a fortune seeing the keep restored and the results were chilling. Alex could almost see medieval Scottish clansmen bursting out the front door in their plaids, brandishing their swords and screaming like banshees.

  Alex entered the hall and pulled the door shut behind him with a bang. Once his eyes adjusted to the interior light, he saw his younger brother sitting in front of the hearth, warming his toes by the fire. Alex marched across the great hall, prepared to give the runt a second installment in the berating he’d given him earlier. He didn’t want another Saturday starting out like this—sans hot water and saturated fat.

  Zachary glanced up from his book, took one look at Alex, and started to laugh.

  “Gggrrrr,” Alex said, wondering if strangling his brother would be half as satisfying as just contemplating it was.

  “Good grief,” Zachary gasped out between guffaws. “What’d you have—an encounter with the Blob?”

  Alex gritted his teeth. “How’d you like to have an encounter with my fists?”

  “Eeuw,” Zachary said with a shudder. “Maybe after you clean up.”

  “As if I could,” Alex growled.

  “What’s your problem? I had plenty of hot water.”

  “I know!”

  Zachary only blinked innocently. Then he rubbed his disgustingly well-fed belly. “There’s nothing left in the fridge, you know,” he said.

  “And whose fault do you think that is?” Alex demanded.

  Zach sighed again, the mournful sigh of a man left home alone with nothing to graze upon. “Man, I hate it when Jamie and Elizabeth go out of town. The least they could have done was leave Patrick or Joshua behind. Josh makes great desserts.” He looked at Alex narrowly. “Why’d I get stuck with just you? You won’t even keep the fridge stocked.”

  Alex relived briefly in his mind some of the more choice experiences he’d had pummeling his baby brother. His irritation momentarily soothed by those warm and fuzzy memories, he managed to speak very calmly. “And what’s wrong with you that you can’t go to the store?”

  Zach settled himself more comfortably into his chair and moved his toes closer to the fire. “I’m too busy. You go instead. And get something good. None of that health food garbage.”

  Alex mentally counted to ten. When that didn’t work, he set his sights on a larger number.

  “Oh, and Alex? I’d go shower first if I were you.” He looked at Alex and started to grin again. “Really. I think it would be the right thing to do.”

  Alex wanted more than anything to wring his brother’s neck in payment for ruining his Saturday morning and to stop the brat’s giggles. Unfortunately, his shirt was beginning to crust over and he was starting to itch.

  “I’ll go to the store later,” he growled, contenting himself with giving Zachary a murderous look and a smart cuff to the ear on his way to the stairs. With any luck there would be hot water by now.

  He rummaged around in the armoire for clean clothes, then headed for his bathroom. He was just reaching into the shower for the taps when the phone started to ring. He ignored it and turned on the water. He hesitantly put his fingers under the spray and smiled in faint surprise at the increasingly warm temperature. Maybe things were starting to look up.

  He started to strip when he realized he had no towel. He had a vague memory of having flung it into the hamper in disgust after his earlier foray into chilly waters. After turning off the shower to conserve what precious hot water there was, he opened the bathroom door only to hear the phone still ringing. Alex growled in frustration.

  “Zach, get the phone!” he yelled.

  The phone continued to ring. Alex cursed as he gingerly rebuttoned his shirt, then made his way into his brother-in-law’s study.

  “What?” he barked into the receiver.

  “Nice to talk to you too, buddy,” a male voice said with a laugh. “All that lovely Scottish scenery getting to you?”

  Alex rolled his eyes heavenward. His day had just taken a decided turn for th
e worse. “Tony, what do you want?”

  “What, no chitchat?”

  “Not with you, thanks anyway.”

  “How’s Elizabeth?” Tony continued. “The baby? Your barbarian brother-in-law?”

  “My sister’s fine, her baby is fine, and Jamie is fine. Now what the hell do you want?”

  “Well, since you asked,” Tony said with a strained laugh, “I’ll get right to it. We need your services.”

  Leave it to Tony not to mince words. Alex took a deep breath.

  “Tony, I quit eight months ago. I haven’t changed my mind.”

  “But you haven’t heard the deal on this one, my friend.”

  “I don’t want to hear.”

  Tony made a sound of impatience. “It’s the sweetest takeover I’ve ever seen. Smooth, easy. They’ll never see it coming. I’ve already got controlling interest. I just need you to come in and close the deal. It will make you richer than your wildest dreams.”

  “I’m already richer than my wildest dreams, Tony.”

  “You can always use more—”

  “No. Don’t call me again.”

  “Alex—”

  “Don’t.” Alex hung up the phone.

  He leaned back and let out his breath slowly. Was it possible he had ever enjoyed any of this?

  Unfortunately, he could remember all too well just how enjoyable it had been. And he remembered just as clearly how it had all started. Anthony DiSalvio had hired him fresh out of law school, when Alex had still been green and full of chivalry. He’d become a lawyer to save the world from injustice. And then Tony, a senior partner, had come to him with a special assignment. Alex had been flattered beyond belief. A little corporate raiding, a takeover done by the book; it had been a rush. He’d saved all the little guys by getting rid of the big bad guys.

  He’d been a smashing success.

  It had gone to his head.

  He’d woken up seven years later. It had taken his sister’s mysterious disappearance to make him take a good hard look at what he was doing with his own life; he hadn’t liked what he’d seen. He had become a pirate—a very rich pirate, but a pirate nonetheless. The little guys had become lost in the shuffle. Alex had raided just for the sheer sport of it, and for the money. He’d started out to save the world from injustice; instead he’d wound up being the cause of more injustice than he cared to think about.