Till There Was You

by Lynn Kurland

  “And if I choose you?”

  “You haven’t seen what else is available.”

  She thought he was jesting at first, then she realized he wasn’t. She lifted her head and looked at him in surprise. “You’re in earnest.”

  He nodded, though he looked none too happy about it.

  “You know, Zachary, ’tis possible to carry chivalry too far.”

  Half his mouth quirked up. “Is it?”

  “My parents had no choice.”

  He pursed his lips. “Your father adored your mother and she him. Your grandfather’s sword in his back was just for show. He told me himself.”

  “You and my father spoke together often.”

  “It kept me from weeping while he was grinding me into the dust in the lists.”

  “What else did you talk about?”

  “You. I made impossibly long lists of your virtues.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I did. Then I attempted equally long lists of all the things I could do to keep you fed if the occasion arose. He wasn’t impressed.”

  “I imagine he was.”

  He laughed uneasily. “He wasn’t. He said I was a terrible smith, a cheeky stable boy, and a lousy dancer. He did let me bring you with me, so I suppose that says something, though I imagine he didn’t think he had much choice.” He paused and looked at her seriously. “I want you to come south with me, Maryanne.”

  “Why?”

  He reached up and tucked hair behind one of her ears, then smiled as he met her eyes. “There’s something I want you to see. Actually, someone I want you to meet. And after you’ve met him, if you want me, I will then drop to my knees and be the one to beg.”

  “Who is this soul?” she asked in surprise.

  He shook his head. “Just come with me. We’ll see my brother on the way down. He’ll get you what you’ll need to be legal in the twenty-first century. You’ll like his wife, Margaret. She was born in the twelfth century.”

  She managed a smile. “Is any of your family wed to souls from your own time?”

  “My other brothers are,” he said. “The rest of us had the good fortune to fall in love elsewhere, I suppose.”

  She realized what he’d said. Apparently he did, too, though he seemed disinclined to gainsay himself. He only looked at her hair as he fussed with it.

  “I told you before that I loved you,” he said, not meeting her eyes.

  “I thought you’d forgotten.”

  He looked at her then. “I haven’t. But I want you to be sure.”

  “If you say that one more time, I truly will stab you.”

  He laughed and pulled her close. “Then come here, wench, and help me find something more constructive to do with my mouth.”

  “Wench,” she muttered in mock offense, then she found that she had no more breath for speaking. She was heartily glad that she was sitting down, though that didn’t ease the chills that ran through her.

  “Maryanne?” he murmured against her mouth quite a while later.

  She couldn’t even open her eyes. She could scarce draw breath. “Aye?” she managed.

  “I love you.”

  She did look at him then. “And I love you.”

  “Go to bed, woman. Take my dirks with you.”

  She smiled and kissed him softly. “I’ve no need of them. I trust you.”

  He shot her a skeptical look, then laughed uneasily. “I suppose you should.” He paused, then pulled her close again. “Just a few more minutes.”

  “I think I can remain awake.”

  “Good of you.”

  It was quite a while later that she crawled unsteadily off his lap. She would go south with him, meet whomever he thought she should, then she would tell him that she had made her decision long ago, on that first day when she watched him stand in her father’s courtyard and refuse to humiliate a man who had so richly deserved it.

  She put her hands on the arms of his chair, leaned over, then looked in his eyes.

  “My mind is made up,” she said softly.

  “Come south and see.”

  “I’m in earnest.”

  He put his hand behind her head, then leaned forward and kissed her. “I will wait,” he said, looking at her seriously. “I will wait for as long as it takes, love.”

  She thought a pair of days might be long enough, but it was obvious he didn’t. She only smiled, kissed him again, then went to find her flannel jammies.

  Chapter 25

  Z achary rubbed the place between his eyes that had begun to pound and wished he’d spent just a little more time on his medieval Norman French. It would have made the past eighteen hours slightly more enjoyable. He had the same sort of headache he’d had for the first few days in Mary’s time, a headache brought on not by sword hilts against his skull but by all the unrelenting, rapid-fire medieval Norman French being spoken without pause.

  It had been worth it, though, to see Mary happy and relaxed. They had caught up with his brother Alex and his wife in a discreet little bed-and-breakfast in Edinburgh so Alex could then tap his appropriately nefarious contacts to get Mary grounded firmly in the twenty-first century. Zachary hadn’t asked any questions and his brother hadn’t volunteered any answers. Actually, Zachary hadn’t been able to do much besides simply watch Mary and marvel at the changes in her.

  Modern life suited her. It had nothing to do with seeing her in jeans and a sweater, or listening to her talk animatedly about this Future marvel or that one. It was just that even with only a small bit of time and space, she had settled more fully into herself somehow. Perhaps that time alone at Moraig’s had been good for her in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

  He watched Mary and Margaret walk ahead of him now, exchanging promises for future meetings where they could discuss the improbabilities of the future and the absolute perfection of Margaret’s first biological child. His brother Alex was walking with them and participating in the Norman French conversation with the ease of a man who had been married to a medieval woman for eight years and was raising three adopted children of that same vintage.

  Zachary had hoped that Mary would be eased by a morning spent with someone who had grown up in the past, yet had now made a very pleasant life with a modern sort of guy. Well, Margaret was stuck with his brother so maybe she deserved more pity than congratulations, but he’d thought it was impolite to point that out, so he’d kept his mouth shut.

  Alex looked over his shoulder at him and lifted one eyebrow in a look that said very clearly that Mary was crazy to lower herself to have anything to do with a man who still preferred Ho Hos to hummus. Zachary had seen the look before so he ignored it.

  He couldn’t imagine that Mary didn’t know exactly how he felt about her. And he supposed he wouldn’t have been foolish to believe she felt the same way. He just had the feeling that Kendrick of Seakirk wasn’t going to be nearly as happy about the state of affairs of their hearts as his sisters-in-law had been. And he suspected, by the look of him, that Kendrick hadn’t slacked off on his swordplay over the years.

  Alex dropped back to walk alongside him. “Where will you be?” he asked quietly. “Artane?”

  “For the next couple of days, at least.”

  “I’ll get her passport and birth certificate to you there, then.” He studied Zachary for a moment, then he took a deep breath and put on his pontificating blowhard attorney expression.

  Zachary steeled himself for the worst. His brother, preparing to wax poetic about things he was sure he wouldn’t like. It couldn’t be good.

  “You haven’t said as much,” Alex said slowly, “but I can’t help but assume you’re going to Seakirk first.”

  Zachary felt something someone else might have called dread toy with settling in his stomach. “Why would you think that?”

  Alex looked at him blandly. “Because I know who lives there.”

  Zachary stopped still. “You do?”

  “I’ve done the occasional bit of work for him.
” Alex laced his fingers together and stretched them out in front of him before he smiled in a particularly enigmatic fashion. “I helped a friend of his out of a legal tangle a couple of years ago. I saw a painting of the earl’s family—or his parents and siblings, rather—while I was there.”

  Zachary choked. He didn’t even protest when his brother slapped him several times rather forcefully on the back. “You’re kidding.”

  “I never kid about legal tangles or family portraits.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me before?” Zachary wheezed.

  “Tell you what, when?” Alex asked pointedly. “Were we supposed to chat before you hopped back to medieval Artane to then fall hard for a certain medieval miss?”

  Zachary looked at his brother narrowly. “Who was the friend with the tangle?”

  Alex smirked. “Jake Kilchurn.”

  Zachary knew he shouldn’t have been surprised, but he found he was just the same.

  “I helped Jake convert his vast assets into the right tender to buy Robin’s sister, Amanda,” Alex continued relentlessly, “because you know they don’t give away their precious treasures to untitled losers who don’t even have a full-time job.”

  “I had a job before,” Zachary growled, “and I have one now.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Why do I talk to you?”

  “Because I’m family and you have to. As for the other, I didn’t tell you because I had no idea you would go and fall for Amanda’s niece. I will tell you, though, that those Artane men are mighty reluctant to part with their women to untitled yahoos who don’t have a bed of their own.”

  “You already said that.”

  “I like to hear myself talk.”

  Zachary cursed his brother, but it was without the level of venom he would have liked to have used. He was too winded. Alex only laughed—rather more robustly than necessary—as if he were enjoying a particularly delicious joke.

  Zachary thought he might have to lean over soon until the stars stopped swirling around his head. “Think Robin knows about any of this? About the time traveling?”

  “Of course he knows. Jake told him where—sorry, when—he was from before he used that great big X near Artane to come back here and get the goods.”

  “Then he knew what I was from the very beginning.”

  “Unless he’d had a recent blow to the head and lost all his long-term memories, then yes, I would imagine so.”

  Zachary rubbed his hands over his face. “I need a drink.”

  “You don’t drink. At least not now, though Jamie has a very interesting story about you and a cache of Barbados rum.”

  “I know that story, though I’m surprised Jamie does because he was the one who spent the night with his head in a fern!” Zachary had to take a deep breath. “My first and only serious brush with demon liquor, thank you very much. Though I’m tempted to have another one very soon.”

  “I wouldn’t until I’d figured out a way to tell Kendrick de Piaget why it is you’ve been snogging with his sister pretty much constantly for the past week.”

  “It hasn’t been the past week. It’s only been the past couple of days.”

  “I’m sure he’ll appreciate the distinction.”

  Zachary felt a little queasy. “It’s the twenty-first century.”

  “Not at Seakirk it isn’t.” Alex shook his head slowly. “You’re in way over your head, little brother. Call me if you want me to come scrape up the bloody pulp that’s left after he finishes with you.”

  “He’s that good?”

  Alex only looked at him for a minute in silence, then laughed and walked away. He was still chuckling when he gathered up his wife and baby, bid Mary a fond good-bye, then walked back to the bed-and-breakfast where they’d all been staying. Zachary continued on because he had comfortable leather seats inside his car, and he very much needed a place to sit down.

  He was slightly sidetracked by the sight of Maryanne de Piaget waiting for him there by that car. He pulled her into his arms and thought there was no reason not to kiss her a bit while he was at it, just so she would remember that he had adored her before her brother had beaten the absolute crap out of him.

  She pulled away, laughing. “I thought your head pained you.”

  “I’m tougher than I look.”

  She put her hands on his face and leaned up on her toes to kiss him. “Thank you for this morning. It was a very great gift.”

  “It was a very great pleasure to watch you natter on in your native tongue.”

  “You speak it very well.”

  He could only hope he would have the chance to improve. He opened the door for her and waited for her get in. She stopped him before he started to close the door.

  “How does the seat belt work again?”

  He leaned over and buckled her in, then stopped when he realized she’d taken hold of the front of his shirt. He perched on the edge of the seat when she moved over to make room for him. He found himself smiling.

  “Need help with anything else?”

  “Come a little closer and I’ll tell you.”

  Heaven help him, he was in trouble. “What other languages can you say that in?”

  “Will I have a kiss for each?”

  He took a deep breath and cast caution to the wind. Well, they’d cast caution to the wind already, but there was no point in not continuing on with what was apparently working so well. “A kiss for each?” he managed. “Absolutely.”

  She smiled. “Then let me see what I know.”

  It was quite a while later that he pulled away, because she did indeed know quite a few languages. She looked thoroughly kissed and he wasn’t sure he was going to be walking very well anytime soon. He looked into her very lovely, very green eyes, then kissed her one last time.

  “A walk on the beach?” he suggested.

  She smiled. “It sounds lovely.”

  “I’ll keep my hands in my pockets.”

  “I won’t.”

  He laughed, then forced himself to pull away and shut the door.

  It was the beginning of a charmed day. He walked with her along the beach, kissed her almost as often as he dared, and took as many pictures of her as she was willing to sit for. And he suppressed a dozen times the urge to ask her to marry him.

  While she was still potentially willing.

  He imagined that his stress over possibly destroying that willingness had begun to show by the time they were driving through the village at Seakirk. Mary was very quiet until they drove up to the outer gates.

  “Zachary?”

  He took a deep breath and looked at her. “What?”

  “Why are we here at Seakirk?”

  He squeezed her hand that was resting on his leg. “There’s just someone I want you to see before you make any serious decisions about your future.”

  “Zachary,” she said quietly, “the decisions are made.”

  “I mean about marriage.”

  “I was referring to marriage.”

  He paused in front of the outer gates, leaned over, and kissed her softly. “No matter what happens here, I just want you to know that I’ve made my decision, too, and I’m not going to change my mind. I’ll understand, though, if you want to.”

  She blinked. “You will?”

  He pulled away. “Of course not. It’ll kill me. I’m just trying to be polite.”

  “Zachary Smith, you’re daft.”

  “I’m beginning to think so, too.” He watched the portcullis be raised, then sighed. “Here goes nothing.”

  More gates opened as if by magic—or paranormal means, which wouldn’t have surprised him—and he drove up the way.

  “Ever been here?” he asked, because he had to say something to keep from shouting.

  “Seakirk?” she asked in surprise. “Saints, nay. Matilda Bu chanan is—was—a witch. And even if that could be doubted, it was a well-known fact that her lover Richard was a warlock. Ask anyone who knew either of them.”

  Zachary tho
ught he just might have that chance very soon, especially considering he’d pried out of Megan de Piaget the details that Kendrick of Artane had been slain by Richard of York, cursed by Matilda of Seakirk, then lived as a ghost in the very keep in front of them for almost eight hundred years.

  “Zachary, you’re very nervous.”

  “I’m not nervous.” And he wasn’t. He was thirty-one, for pity’s sake, far too old to feel like a seventh grader being hauled into the principal’s office. He looked for a few quick excuses as to why he’d been doing things the principal might have disapproved of, but he wasn’t sure those excuses would fly in his current circumstances.

  In his defense, he hadn’t known Kendrick was Mary’s brother when he’d brought her back from the Middle Ages. Of course, he hadn’t said anything when he’d figured it out, which was definitely a point against him. He also hadn’t gone to get her right away and delivered her to Kendrick’s door right away, nor had he avoided kissing her senseless until he’d delivered her to Kendrick’s door and asked the man if he could. His conversation with his brother came back to him suddenly with unwholesome clarity.

  It’s the twenty-first century.

  Not at Seakirk it isn’t.

  Zachary had the feeling that truer words had never been spoken.

  He pulled to a stop in the courtyard, then got out of the car before he was tempted to kiss Mary again. He walked around to her side and opened the door. He reached in and unbuckled her, then stopped and looked at her.

  “I love you,” he said gravely.

  She put her hand behind his head and leaned forward to kiss him. “Don’t leave me.”

  “I don’t think I should even touch you here.”

  She blanched. “Zachary—”

  He kissed her again very quickly, then stepped back. He helped her out of the car, then released her hand. She took hold of the back of his jacket and held on. When he balked, she stuck her chin out and silently dared him to say aught. He shut her door, then sighed deeply. He held out his hand and waited for her to put hers in it. His doom was probably already sealed; there was no sense in not putting all the nails into his coffin.

  He walked up the stairs with her, then knocked on the door. Mary was trembling. He looked at her in surprise.