by Lynn Kurland
"Kilchurn, Ltd.," said an unfamiliar voice.
Jake heaved a sigh of relief that came straight from the depths of his gut. Then he frowned. "I'm looking for Penelope Cleary. Is she available?"
"I'm sorry, this is the service. Ms. Cleary had a collapse and is in hospital. We're the answering service she engaged before she left. Can I help you?"
"Really?" Jake asked, surprised. "Why—oh, never mind." There was no point in trying to get details out of an answering service. He would get to London and find out the details tomorrow. "This is Jake Kilchurn. I'm stuck here in Northumberland and I was hoping Penelope would arrange a car, or find me a bank—" Well, he wasn't exactly sure what he'd been thinking. Too much time-travel and not having his assistant waiting by the phone had thrown him.
"Where are you?" the service asked. "We'll have a car sent immediately."
"How nice." Jake obtained the address from his host, then relayed it to the service and hung up. He popped his head into the salon. "I'll just sit out front."
"Suit yourself," the man said.
His wife, however, apparently couldn't bear the thought of Jake sitting outside without something strengthening. He waited for his car in the comfort of a folding chair with a little folding table in front of him, laden with tea and cookies.
He wasn't sure he could say he missed eel under sauce, but he wasn't sure he wasn't going to miss Tesco cookies, either.
It was quite dark when a black Mercedes pulled up in front of the house. Jake called his thanks inside, having long ago deposited the tea things inside the kitchen, and walked toward the car. The chauffeur got out, along with another man in a dark suit. Jake wondered if the police had come to make certain he was really who he said he was. It occurred to him then that he should have asked inside for the date. Who knew how long had passed since he'd been in the past?
"Mr. Kilchurn?" the dark-suited passenger asked.
"That's me," Jake said cheerfully. "I don't mean to trouble you both—"
"No trouble at all," the man said, taking Jake by the arm.
Very firmly by the arm.
Jake looked at him, startled. "Hey—"
The sting of a needle was only the briefest of sensations before complete darkness descended and he knew no more.
* * *
Chapter 20
Amanda ran along the perimeter of the lists, wishing there was a bit of rain to perfect the misery of her morning. Instead there was nothing but blue sky above and what promised to be, for a change, a beautiful summer day.
She cursed, just on principle.
It seemed like the only thing she could do. Her choices for other activities were sorely limited. She couldn't walk along the shore. If she did, she would be faced at each step with the ghost of Jackson Kilchurn, his twinkling eyes and easy smile. She couldn't go to the chapel. There too, she would have his ghost sitting next to her, stealing looks at her from under his eyebrows whilst he should have been attending to his eternal welfare.
If she hadn't been so desperate to outrun her traitorous heart, she would have stayed away from the lists as well. She could scarce watch Robin and Miles train without seeing Jake there as well, trading parries and jests with Robin, driving himself with a ferociousness that even Robin had admired.
So instead, there she was, running as if her very soundness of mind depended on it.
Robin swung suddenly into place beside her. She jumped, as she always did, and gave him a glare. Damn the man, would he never cease with this suddenly appearing without warning?
"Save your breath," he advised cheerfully. "You'll need it for another lap or two."
She saved her breath, but made a search for something truly nasty to say to him. Unfortunately, she was distracted by the fact that she'd already made five laps about the lists and apparently that was taking a toll on her poor form. Or that could have been worry that Jake would never return.
It was hard to say.
She ran with her brother in companionable silence for quite a while longer before she managed to spit out the words she'd been chewing on since Robin had returned very late the previous evening. He had come home, quite silent, gathered his wife and his son, and gone straight to bed without comment. His look had warned her that he had much on his mind and she would be wise to leave him be. So she'd chewed on her questions and her curiosity for the whole of the night only to drive herself to the lists at first light. She should have known Robin would appear later rather than sooner.
She looked sideways at Robin. "He left, then," she said.
"Aye."
She waited, but Robin seemed content to simply bounce along, serene and humming in an annoyingly off-key fashion. She finally smacked him in the belly with the back of her hand.
"Dolt, give me tidings."
"I didn't think you cared."
"Perhaps you shouldn't think so much."
Robin smiled and slowed to a walk. He didn't look at her, however. He seemed to find the distant blue sky to be quite fascinating.
"Aye, he left," he said, finally.
"But you brought back two horses."
He shrugged, but continued his study of the sky. "He managed to find another way back to London and didn't need the mount."
She put her hands on her hips. "Well? How? Did he cast his lot in with others? Did he walk? Did he sprout wings and fly?" By the saints, Robin could be closed-mouthed!
Robin looked at her. "Aye," he said.
"Aye what, you imbecile," she exclaimed. " 'Aye' is no answer!"
"I'll let him tell you about his mode of transportation when he comes back," Robin said, reaching over to ruffle her hair. "You'd best be about your training and then off with you for some stitching and other womanly work. You mustn't let your skills slide south, you know."
"You are infuriating," she stated.
"I know," he said pleasantly. "Now, are you up for another bit of a run, or shall I have Christopher fetch our swords?"
"Swords," she said promptly. "It would give me great pleasure to cause you a bit of irritation as well. Perhaps in the form of a great, gaping wound in your belly."
"By the saints, Amanda, you are possessed of foul humors today," he said with a laugh. "I think you might actually provide me with a bit of sport this fine morn. Christopher! Fetch us the tools of death, lad!"
Amanda was tempted to try to inflict some of that on her sibling, but then he would be unable to answer her questions and she thought if she vexed him long enough, he might give her a better answer than aye.
Aye?
That told her nothing.
"He'll return," Robin said easily.
"I don't care if he does."
"Ha," Robin said, "of course you do, you cruel girl. You want him back and then you'll spend years punishing him for going away."
"It does me no good to have him," she said wearily. "He has no title."
"He'll buy one."
"Father will not be impressed."
"That won't be because I didn't give him all the aid I could."
She looked at her brother and had a rare feeling of gratitude to him wash over her. "Then you favor him? In truth?"
"Amanda, I passed three se'nnights with the man in the lists from dawn to dusk. Why, by all the saints, would I waste my precious time with a man I did not favor?"
"You've done more foolish things than that," she reminded him.
He dredged up patience; she watched him do it. He pursed his lips and spoke very deliberately. "When a man can show me his character in such a short amount of time, when he has so little to hide of himself or his motives that I can easily see what he believes, then that is a man I can vouch for."
She hesitated. "Nicholas hates him."
Robin put his hand on her shoulder. "Unlike me, Nick is very concerned that you be happy. I couldn't care less if you were miserable."
"You are a great oaf, Robin de Piaget," she said tartly, but in truth, her heart was greatly eased by his words. She certainly wasn't
accustomed to living her life according to her brother's opinions, but it was somehow reassuring to know he wasn't opposed to the man she loved.
"What an affectionate wench you are," he said with a smile. "Jake no doubt looks forward with great relish to a lifetime of such kind words."
"And he'll have them," she muttered. She accepted her sword from Christopher, then paused and looked at Robin. "Tell me he didn't walk back to London."
Robin opened his mouth, then stopped and shook his head. "Amanda, he is a man of mystery and I will tell you no more than that. I think in this instance, you will simply have to trust him."
"The saints preserve me."
"Aye, well, you'll likely need their aid as well. And in the end, I daresay you will know a great deal more about Jackson Alexander Kilchurn than I do." He shook his head. "Jake. We should find another title for him than that. It hardly sounds of modern usage."
"He has Scottish ancestors," Amanda pointed out. "And you know what sorts of strange things come from the north."
"There is that," Robin agreed, taking his own sword. He pointed it at her in a friendly fashion. "Let's be about our work. I daresay we both need the distraction."
Unfortunately, the distraction of the lists could only last so long because she was, unlike Jake, unwilling to drive herself until the sun set. She called peace at noon, handed her sword to Christopher, and set off for the house for a well-deserved rest. She snatched a hunk of bread and a bottle of wine off the high table and continued on her way upstairs, ignoring protests and questions from the little lads and Miles.
She gained her mother's solar only to find her sister-in-law there before her. Anne looked up from her sewing and smiled.
"The conquering hero returns," she said.
"Ha," Amanda said with a snort. "The exhausted one, rather." She cast herself down into the chair across from Anne and leaned her head back, closing her eyes. "I daresay I could sleep for a fortnight."
"Why don't you?"
Amanda opened her eyes. "Because I fear if I sleep, he will not return."
Anne smiled. "He will. Robin thinks so."
"Did he tell you aught? Anything of his last words with Jake?"
"Nothing more than that," Anne said. "And you know Robin isn't one to keep secrets, at least from me. But he said nothing more when he came home and his silence this morn told me that he intended to say nothing else."
"I don't suppose he'll change his mind," Amanda said glumly.
"Nay, sister." Anne paused for a moment. "I'm sorry, Amanda. I suppose all you can truly do is trust that Jake loves you and that he will return."
"Unless he was merely passing the time with me," Amanda said grimly.
Anne laughed and for some reason it was as beautiful as sun breaking through clouds. "Amanda, how could he possibly have endured all Robin's torture, all the humoring of the little ones, and Nicholas glaring daggers at him at all hours if he had no other purpose in mind than to idle away his days with you?"
"I suppose," Amanda said quietly.
"Besides, I saw the way he looked at you." Anne smiled reassuringly. "He isn't nearly as hard to read as Robin was when I was not his wife."
"Robin is still impossible," Amanda said darkly. "I vow, Anne, I do not know how you bear him."
Anne only smiled serenely. "You are very much like him, you know."
"I am not!"
"Aye, you are," Anne said. "Blustering to hide your true, tender feelings. It is so much easier just to show them."
"Easier?" Amanda asked. "More frightening, I'd say."
"That too," Anne agreed. She continued to stitch in a most contented fashion. She looked periodically at Phillip who had fallen asleep in a nest of blankets on the floor near her feet.
Amanda envied her her peace, but Anne had certainly earned it. She earned it anew each day by virtue of the fact that she was wed, poor woman, to Robin of Artane. Amanda wondered how she managed it. Love turned spines to mush, apparently.
She contemplated that for the remainder of the afternoon, content to merely sit across from Anne and watch her work. Anne offered her a bit of mending, but Amanda politely declined. Besides, no one wanted her to do their sewing for them. Her skills lay in strategy and subterfuge.
Indeed, she would have been better off as a man.
She slapped her hands on her knees and rose. "I need air."
Anne laughed up at her. "I told you: you should stop thinking so much."
"I should. It never serves me. I'm going for a walk on the roof. Mayhap the sea breezes will blow sense into my poor empty head."
"Will you come down for dinner?"
Amanda shook her head as she walked to the door. "Best that I don't. I'll filch something from the kitchens later. I've no mind for speaking with anyone and no stomach for pretending I'm cheerful."
"As you will."
Amanda left the solar and made for the roof of her father's castle, trying not to remember the last time she'd stood there, which had been yesterday morning as she'd watched Robin and Jake ride off through the village. She'd watched them until she could see them no longer.
Or, more precisely, she might have been able to see them longer if she hadn't been blinded by her tears.
She chose a different part of the roof, the one that overlooked the sea, and cursed herself for a sniveling fool. He was only a man. She knew many of them herself and had never found one worthy of her tears. Jake was no exception. He would likely begin to forget about her somewhere between Artane and York, and finish the chore by the time he'd reached London.
Besides, he was merely a merchant. He sold goods to earn his bread. He likely spent horrible months at sea on his travels with little to eat and no decent place to sleep so he could bargain for more gems to bring back to London and do with them what he did with them.
She sighed. Damnation. Now she was not going to be able to look at the sea either.
"How do you fare?"
She almost fell off the parapet in surprise, not only because of the voice, but whom it belonged to. She dragged her sleeve across her tear-stained cheeks, then looked up at her brother.
"Well, enough," she said. "And you?"
Nicholas paused for a moment or two, then nodded. "Well enough, I suppose."
She stood next to him in silence for a very long time. He seemed to have no more taste for speech than she did, but she supposed that was a man's habit. Finally, she sighed and looked up at him.
"You've been powerfully unpleasant since you returned."
"My roof still leaks."
"I see."
She fell silent.
So did he.
And then he spoke. "He left, then."
"He did."
Nicholas took a deep breath. "I behaved badly, Amanda. Forgive me."
She shook her head. She didn't want to discuss this, or anything else of serious import with her brother. So she put her arm around his waist, leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed. "Please, don't speak of it. Don't speak of anything, if you have any mercy in your soul."
"Amanda—"
"Nicholas, please," she said quietly. "Please."
He sighed and put his arm around her shoulder. "As you will." He was silent for several moments. "As you will," he repeated softly.
Amanda had thought her life could not worsen. Endless suitors who were unsuitable. A man she had lived with her entire life to whom she was not related but unable to have nonetheless. And now a man she could love and thought she just might love very much who had left and given only a promise of returning.
She stared, now dry-eyed, at the sea and attempted to allow the ceaseless roar of it soothe her.
Unsurprisingly, it failed.
* * *
Chapter 21
Jake woke to spinning. He would have groaned out loud, but he was afraid that groaning would make the spinning worse, so he lay perfectly still, concentrating on the pattern of his breathing until his head cleared.
It took a ve
ry long time.
Time traveling was apparently quite hard on the body.
He tried to ignore how perfectly ghastly he felt by forcing himself to produce the memories of his last twenty-four hours from the depths of his alarmingly foggy brain.
He remembered talking to Robin. He remembered telling Robin about himself, about where and when he'd come from, and where he intended to try to get back to. He remembered looking at the grass and wondering what it took to get back to the future he'd left behind. He remembered looking behind him and finding Robin gone.
The memories thereafter were a little more difficult to produce.
He remembered tea on a front stoop and a dark car pulling up in front of the semidetached house. He remembered the stick of a needle. And then he could remember nothing else.
Where in the hell was he?
"Is he awake?"
There was a pause and Jake sensed someone leaning over him. He gave thanks for what minuscule bit of survival training Thad had taught him during forced stays in hotels waiting out bad weather. It was almost easy to keep his breathing slow and deep, talk his heart into remaining on a steady rhythm.
"He's still asleep, Doctor."
"Give him another jab anyway."
"But, Dr. Andrews, that might be dangerous!"
"I don't think our wealthy patron cares, nurse. He's to remain sedated. Our duty is to see that he does."
Jake's first instinct was to leap up and fight, but he suppressed it viciously. He would wake again, and hopefully have more time to determine where he was before he acted.
A wealthy patron who didn't care if he died?
There was a prick, and then he slid helplessly into unconsciousness before he could decide if that might be his father, and why.
He woke again, foggy and disoriented. The memories flooded back much more quickly this time. He waited for what seemed an eternity, struggling to remain motionless and relaxed, until he was certain there was no one else in the room and no kind of monitor attached to him.
He was, however, attached to something else.