Dreams of Stardust

by Lynn Kurland

  "What is that?" she breathed. " 'Tis magnificent."

  "Just a brooch," he said modestly. "It's a spray of flowers I designed for a woman who loved different colors of gems. Right here I put citrine, then blue zircon here, rose garnet here, aquamarine here—a very unique color of it that was very hard to find and even harder to cut." He looked up at her from under his eyelashes and smiled. "It was, in fact, a great deal like the color of your eyes. Very beautiful, very rare."

  Amanda wondered if anyone had bothered to bring wine with them. She was, quite suddenly, quite parched.

  "Cut?" Miles asked, dragging a stool over to sit next to Jake. "What do you mean, cut?"

  "Amanda, may I have your dagger?" Jake asked.

  She pulled it out of the back of her belt and handed it over to him. He held it up so all could see the dark-red stone in its hilt.

  "When you find gems, they don't look like this. They're dull, much duller than this one. It's the gem cutter's task to take a dull stone and turn it into something beautiful. And to do that," he said, "you have to be able to see more than what's on the surface."

  He looked at Amanda for a moment or two in silence.

  "Take Amanda's dagger," he continued. "This gem's not a bad stone, and it's actually cut quite well, but look here. If it could be faceted here," he pointed, "and here as well, then the fire that lies within the stone would be easier to see. Of course, I don't have the tools here to do it…"

  He frowned at her dagger thoughtfully and Amanda could readily see how in this, at least, he knew of what he spoke.

  And at that moment, there was a part of her that envied him his passion for his work.

  She realized just as suddenly that she had no true passion of her own, short of devising new and interesting ways to avoid matrimony. She did have a goodly knowledge of herbs, and of languages, mathematics, and other manly subjects her father had insisted she learn. She could break a horse, tend a child, and face a man over blades and likely come away the victor if she had to.

  Odd, though, looking at the small, exquisite forms that continued to flow from Jake's pen as if they took on lives of their own as he sketched them, that her life had seemed so important and the lives of others outside her gates so ordinary but a handful of days before. Now she could see how a mere merchant might be so much more than that.

  How sorely she had misjudged his depths.

  And how generously he had granted her virtues far beyond what she deserved.

  She was beginning to wonder if everything she had believed about her place in the world and everyone else's on a lower plane was completely false.

  "Amanda?"

  She looked at him, dragging herself away from her thoughts. "Aye?"

  "Are you all right?"

  She nodded, trying to smile. "I am well. I am just… well, I had no idea how beautiful your wares are. They are… breathtaking."

  "Thank you," he said simply.

  Without gloating. Without an ah, see how you've misjudged me, you disagreeable wench look. Perhaps he was modest, or perhaps he just knew his worth and didn't need it countenanced by anyone else.

  He was, as Miles had said, a goodly sort.

  "Can you teach us to draw?" Montgomery asked, looking at Jake's renderings. "I would like that."

  "I would as well," John admitted. "Though I think I would prefer to draw scenes of glorious bloodshed, not dainties for a lady's cloak."

  Jake laughed. "No doubt. Yes, if you'd like. I'll trade you for more lessons with the sword."

  "I'll see to your swordplay," Miles put in. "And if there's anything left of you at the end of the day, the boys can have you and you can do with them what you like."

  "But where does that leave Amanda?" Montgomery asked.

  All eyes turned to her. She would have cut off her own arm before she blushed, but somehow, she couldn't quite reach for her dagger to do it before she felt herself growing uncomfortably hot.

  She pushed her hair back from her face, though it cooled her not one bit. "I would like to learn as well," she admitted slowly.

  "Done," Jake said promptly. "Especially if we can use you as our model on occasion." He looked at the twins. "Just think on it, boys. Long stretches of time with nothing more to do than study your sister and figure out how to capture her on paper." He shuddered. "Torture."

  "The torture you'll find each night begins and ends here," she said, gesturing toward the chessboard.

  "Happily," he said with a smile. "Now, someone help me figure out how to clean up this ink, because I've never used a feather to draw with before."

  Amanda shared a knowing look with Miles, who seemed to be just as baffled as she herself was.

  "No, not that look," Jake said.

  "What look?" Amanda asked.

  "The one that says you think I've lost my mind. There's a logical explanation for what I don't know."

  "Then give it," she said.

  He smiled pleasantly, then rubbed his hands together and rose. "Montgomery, help me clean this up, would you? Then I should get to bed. We have a big day tomorrow in the lists."

  Amanda pursed her lips, but didn't press him. There would be plenty of time later to get answers. She'd overheard Jake saying earlier to Miles that he planned to remain for a bit at Artane, at least until Nicholas came home. Lord Ledenham had convinced him that even with all the guards still at Artane, Amanda would do better with him as added protection.

  What protection he could offer, she didn't know.

  But even as that thought took shape in her mind, she knew that wasn't exactly true. The man was canny, and he would certainly be able to see to anyone if he could avoid being skewered with a sword long enough to do it with his hands alone.

  And just where had he learned that skill?

  So many questions.

  The saints be praised she might have the time to have those answers.

  She found herself wishing that Nicholas's roof might find itself quite unfinished for several more fortnights.

  * * *

  Chapter 15

  Jake put his borrowed sword point down in the dirt and dragged his sleeve across his sweaty forehead. He looked at the castle rising up next to him and shook his head. Who would have thought that an innocent enough trip north would have ended here.

  At Artane.

  In a very roundabout way, of course.

  He looked at the sword in his hands, then lifted it up and examined it. It was odd enough to be standing in a medieval castle; it was beyond weird to be standing there with a sword in his hands. Stranger still to be learning how to use it.

  He looked at Miles. "That was better."

  "Better," Miles conceded. "I only dozed off a handful of times."

  Jake laughed. "You're merciless."

  "Nay, I am quite soft—especially compared to my brother. Not only would Robin grind you under his heel, he would demand that you scrape yourself off his boot so he could stroll back to the hall in comfort."

  "You're a good teacher," Jake said frankly. "I appreciate your help."

  Miles made him a small bow. " 'Twas my pleasure, truly, and no thanks are necessary. You've kept the twins from driving me mad. That is worth a great deal."

  "Right," Jake said, not believing it for an instant. Miles and his brothers seemed to share a genuine affection for each other, despite Miles's grumbles that they took up too much of his time and the twins' complaints that he was ignoring them.

  Jake envied them.

  Though he had to admit that, over the past week since his aborted attempt to get home, he had felt a part of that family circle.

  It was a very pleasant feeling indeed.

  He supposed that even Amanda had by now gotten over her horror at the fact that he was a mere merchant. He honestly hadn't expected her to feel anything else. How could she? This was her reality. In her world, a title was everything.

  "Let's have a drink and a bit of a rest," Miles suggested. "Then we'll go at it again, if you wish."

/>   "I wish," Jake said. "I've figured out which end to hold my sword by, but that's about it."

  " 'Tis a fine start. We'll improve upon that this afternoon."

  Jake walked with him over to the well. He wondered what sorts of things found themselves in that well, but at the moment, he was too grateful for something cold to drink to give it much worry. Miles had dredged up a mail shirt for him earlier that week and though Jake was used to sweltering heat, of both the jungle and the mine kind, this exercising in a tin can was an entirely new experience in par-boiling.

  He poured water over his head and came up spluttering. He shook his head.

  "I don't know how you stand the heat."

  "You grow accustomed to it," Miles said. "When you're in a battle for your life, you appreciate the protection mail gives. I'm surprised you don't have at least a leather jerkin. That might turn a dull knife. Perhaps."

  "I've worn leather before," Jake admitted, "and I agree. It's some protection." He spared a thought for his perfectly broken-in leather coat that was now keeping some medieval opportunist warm.

  "Did you lose that when your gear was stolen?" Miles asked.

  "Yes, among other things."

  Miles shook his head sadly. "You shouldn't travel alone. Not even the most skilled knight goes about without a man to guard his back."

  "You did," Jake pointed out.

  "Well," Miles said with a small smile, "I'm not exactly the most cautious of souls."

  Jake laughed. There Miles stood, a medieval knight with all the skills necessary for the execution of knightly duties. He had no doubt spent many years perfecting his skills in quite rigid ways. But despite what had to be a very serious bit of self-discipline, Jake could see that Miles had a good dose of the same wanderlust he had himself. He imagined that if Miles had found himself in the twenty-first century, he would have been traveling all over the world, possibly in search of the rare, the unique, and the ridiculously expensive.

  Jake smiled to himself. Too bad he couldn't have traded places with Miles. It would have solved several problems for the both of them.

  "Let us make for the table," Miles said. "For all we know, Amanda will be there, waiting to display her chatelaine skills and pour our wine."

  "I've known your sister less than a month and I'm positive she isn't going to be standing there with a bottle in one hand and a plate of fine meats in the other."

  "Probably not," Miles agreed. "Nevertheless, we should at least take our ease for a moment or two before we return to our labors."

  Jake nodded and walked with Miles to the great hall. He had almost stopped thinking about the complete improbability of what he was doing, but it caught him at odd times.

  Like now, when he was crossing a medieval courtyard wearing chain mail with a sword slapping against his thigh as he walked. He squeaked a little, he sweated a lot, and he was actually looking forward to eel under sauce.

  Who would have thought it?

  He wondered what the people he'd left behind—or ahead as the case might be—were thinking at the moment. Or doing, for that matter. Was time passing in the same manner there? Had a month gone by, leaving Gideon's father without his paperwork and Jackson III grinding his teeth at a missed deal?

  Had Gideon done any investigation into Jake's disappearance, or had he chalked it up to irresponsibility?

  He couldn't have said and today he didn't care. Today he was going to continue with his plan to remake himself into a medieval knight—minus the title, of course—so he could protect Amanda until one of her older brothers got home. And then he would go home and take back up his own life.

  His own dull, flat life.

  He walked into the hall and the first thing he saw, once his eyes adjusted to the gloom, was Amanda standing near the high table, talking to one of Artane's servants.

  And he wondered if he could go back, back to that life in the future when everything that sparkled was here in the past.

  He walked across the floor with her brother and found that he simply couldn't take his eyes off her. And when she finished speaking, turned, and looked at him, he had the most absurd feeling of pleasure wash over him.

  And then she smiled.

  And he felt like he'd been winded.

  "Steady," Miles murmured.

  "Shut up."

  Miles tsk-tsked. "You shouldn't be rude to your sword master, especially when your work for the day isn't finished."

  "I'm older than you are. I can take you."

  "So the little lads claim. Not with the sword, surely."

  "Surely not," Jake agreed. "But with my bare hands? Definitely."

  Miles hesitated only briefly. "Will you show me?"

  Jake smiled at him. "Of course. Tomorrow, though, and without mail."

  "Done." Miles waved an expansive hand Amanda's way. "You may moon over my sister all you like," he said loudly.

  Jake gave him a friendly pat on the back that was firm enough to make him stumble, smiled warningly, then turned his attentions to the really interesting occupant of the great hall. He stopped in front of her and made her a small bow.

  "My lady."

  She wrinkled her nose. "You need a bath."

  "Knights don't bathe," Miles said from behind Jake.

  "They do in this house."

  "We're not finished with our training for the day," Miles argued.

  Amanda pursed her lips. "Very well, you may stink now. Bathe before supper, else you won't eat. At least not at my table."

  Miles made her a low bow, then hopped around the table and made himself comfortable in a chair. Jake smiled at Amanda.

  "Shall I sit downwind?"

  "I'll hold my nose. Come and eat, so you'll have strength for your afternoon."

  So he came, and he sat, and he ate. And the entire time he was acutely aware of her sitting next to him, sparring verbally with Miles, trying to repair the twins' bad manners.

  Saying very little to him.

  He finished, then sat back—as comfortably as a man can sit back while wearing chain mail—and simply watched her. She pointed a final wagging finger at John, then looked at him and frowned.

  "What?"

  He shook his head, unable to stop a smile. "Nothing. I'm just watching you."

  "Why?"

  "I can't help myself. You are without a doubt the feistiest, mouthiest, most fascinating woman I have ever had the pleasure of meeting."

  "Mouthiest?" she echoed.

  He made a quacking motion with his hand.

  She blinked for a moment or two, then one corner of her mouth twitched. "I think I should be offended."

  "It's a compliment."

  "Robin says my vile tongue drives all sensible men away," she said, quite casually, looking down at her hands.

  "I'm still standing."

  She went still. It was that same stillness she'd had in the chapel, only this was something that covered not only her, but the rest of the occupants of the dinner table as well. Miles no longer grumbled; the twins stopped chewing. It was as if they all held their breath, waiting for whatever was to come.

  "Are you?" she asked quietly, still looking down at her hands folded tightly in her lap.

  "Not that it does any good," he said, just as quietly. "But for what it's worth, nothing you've said has made me run for the front gate."

  She was silent for a very long time.

  John belched loudly, then clapped his hand over his mouth and looked at Jake with wide eyes.

  "Sorry," he stammered.

  "The emotion was too much for him," Miles said dryly. "My thanks, brother, for saving us all from Jake falling to his knees and professing undying love." He rose suddenly. "Let us be about our work again, Jake. We've much to do and little time in which to do it."

  Jake had to agree. He drained his cup, then rose. He would have followed Miles around the end of the table if he hadn't felt a light touch on his hand. He looked down. Amanda was looking at her fingers touching his, then she put her ha
nd back in her lap.

  "Why?" she whispered. "Why are you doing this?"

  He pushed his chair back and went down on one knee next to her.

  "Ah, by the saints," Miles groaned.

  Jake shot him a glare over his shoulder, then turned back to Amanda. "Because anything I can do to keep you safe, I will do."

  She met his gaze.

  He was floored to see tears in her eyes.

  "So much effort," she murmured.

  "So worth it," he replied. He reached out and touched her face, looked into her turquoise eyes for another endless moment, then rose suddenly and turned. He had to shepherd Miles in front of him to get out from behind the table and out of the great hall, but that was actually a good thing, because in the shepherding he held onto Miles's shoulder and kept himself upright.

  "You poor fool," Miles said as they walked down the front steps together.

  "Thank you," Jake said politely. "Do you have anything else useful to say, or is that it?"

  "Give me time and I feel certain I'll manage something else," Miles said cheerfully.

  Jake let him have his think and while he did, he cursed himself a thousand times and a thousand ways. He couldn't have her. He couldn't flirt with her. He probably shouldn't even stay within a hundred yards of her. She was going to marry some bloody medieval guy with gold stars on his shirt and a kingly stamp of approval on his forehead, and that guy wasn't going to be him. He was going to have to go home, get back on with his life, and make the best of it.

  Make the best of life without that mouthy, feisty, amazing woman who really deserved a twenty-first century kind of guy who could let her be herself without being so threatened he would beat the spirit out of her.

  Which he was quite certain Lord Ledenham wouldn't be able to do if he ever got his hands on her.

  They continued on their way through the courtyard and into the lists. Miles hummed pleasantly, then came to a halt. He turned and looked at Jake.

  And the look on his face made Jake freeze.

  Damn it, what was it with this place? Either Fate had a horrible sense of humor, he was stuck in some kind of relentless time warp, or he was going through some kind of withdrawal from junk food. He couldn't say. But what he could say was that if he didn't stop having these kinds of déjà vu moments that threatened to knock him flat, he was, well, he was going to have something to say about it.