Dreams of Stardust

by Lynn Kurland

  Sir Stephen puffed out his chest and looked appropriately fierce. Genevieve smiled to herself as she bid him a good morning and continued on her way. She probably should have asked Stephen if he'd seen Christopher, but then again, it wasn't as if her children could really get into trouble.

  That was the upside of living in a haunted castle. Not much went unobserved.

  Actually, there weren't many downsides. She and Kendrick had privacy when he bellowed for it. She knew it distressed her husband that they were only seventh on Britain's most haunted list, but she suspected that was only because he never let anyone who made up those sorts of lists inside the front gates. If the paranormal squad responsible could have gotten a good look at the majority of Seakirk's inhabitants, Seakirk would have leapfrogged to Number One overnight.

  She continued down the hallway and made her way down to the great hall. Worthington was there, tidying up things that were already gleaming.

  "Worthington, have you seen Christopher?"

  "In the lists, my lady, with the rest of the rabble."

  She laughed. "I suppose he's safe enough."

  "Actually, His Lordship has the lad well in hand." Worthington smiled. "And how is the wee one?"

  "Sleeping. It won't last long."

  "It never does, my lady," Worthington said with a long-suffering sigh.

  Genevieve only smiled and made her way out of the keep and across the courtyard. She'd made such a walk eight years ago, only then she had been something of an interloper at Seakirk and Kendrick had been… well, he'd been something less than he was today.

  But the lists looked no different. There had been flowers and trees, as there were now, as well as a very large field of dirt where manly men went to do their manly duty—which duty today seemed to be learning how to heft swords and wave them about as if the wavers meant business.

  Even young Christopher held a sword and made motions with it as if he thought he just might be able to do some damage.

  Genevieve shivered as she walked across the lists to a handy bench that had been pushed up against the wall for just such an occasion. It was summer, true, but already there was a hint of fall in the air. She sat down and watched her husband, the captain of his guard, his sons, and a few other choice souls continue their exercises in medieval studies. She wrapped Adelaide more snugly in her blanket and cuddled her close, grateful for the warmth and for the security of living in a time when her husband didn't have to go out to battle with his sword every day.

  Said husband strode over to her a few minutes later, his sword slapping against his leg. He wiped his forehead on his shirt, then sat down next to her and smiled.

  "How fare you, my love?"

  "Very well, thank you," she said, finding it just as chill-inducing to have him sitting next to her as it had been eight years earlier. "How are you?"

  "I'm in the lists with my sons," he said. "How can I not be content?"

  She laughed. "All I can say is it's a good thing we don't have six daughters."

  "And you think my little Addy won't have her own sword as well?" he asked, his dusty green eyes twinkling.

  "Over my dead body."

  He laughed. "Sword skill is never a bad thing," he said. "You have some of it. Why shouldn't she?"

  "Later," Genevieve said. "Later, when she's out of diapers." She smiled at him. "So, who's in the guestroom?"

  "Somebody named Kilchurn."

  "Kendrick," she said warningly, "you aren't entertaining strangers again, are you?"

  "Moi?" he said, with his hand over his heart. "Allow hapless strangers into my hall where they might be terrified at night by restless spirits?"

  "Kendrick…"

  "Very well, let me tell you a bit about our guest," he said in a more serious tone. "I think he was the one whose black Jag rolled earlier this summer. Apparently he was thrown from the car."

  "Where did he land?"

  "In medieval England."

  Genevieve blinked. "How do you know?"

  "He told me that I greatly resemble Robin de Piaget."

  "That would do it," she agreed with a weak laugh. "And you said?"

  "I told him to have a rest and we would talk later."

  Genevieve smiled. "Kendrick, how do you know he didn't know you as well?"

  "Because he implied as much. He said I looked like my father. I assume he had to have known my father and that would put him in those glorious early thirteenth century years. Before my time," he said modestly.

  "A bit," she agreed.

  "I suppose he'll have questions for me," Kendrick mused.

  "I suppose he will." She'd had questions for Kendrick as well, when she'd first met him. She reached out and took his hand. "Be kind to him."

  "Why would I be otherwise?"

  She pursed her lips. "Because you have an awful sense of humor."

  Kendrick brought her hand to his lips and kissed it gallantly. "You seem to have survived and look what I put you through when first we met."

  "You've made up for it since." She sat back and looked at him. "Has it been eight years?"

  "Eight glorious years," he said, his dimple peeking out of his cheek as he smiled. "Add that to those years I waited to make your acquaintance and I have quite a tally in regards to your sweet self, don't I?"

  "You do," she agreed. "Are you going to tell this Mr. Kilchurn the whole story?"

  "I have no reason not to." He smiled. "You know, I've never really believed in time travel."

  She snorted so loudly, the baby began to fuss. She clapped a hand over her mouth, then looked at him in disbelief. "You live in a castle filled to the brim with ghosts. You have had your own brush with ghosthood. All these things seem normal, yet time travel is out of the question?"

  "We're comfortable with what we're familiar with," Kendrick said, with a shrug, his eyes twinkling. He leaned over and kissed Genevieve softly. "I'm being called back to the fray. If you're chilled, go in, my love. I'll keep an eye on the lads."

  "And if not you, a dozen other of their keepers will," she muttered.

  "Ah, but they are my sons," Kendrick said with a smile, "and I've an especial interest in them. They'll be safe enough."

  "I know," she said. "I don't worry, really. It was just a good excuse to come watch you."

  Kendrick rose, made her a low bow, then returned to the field with his most arrogant swagger. Genevieve laughed to herself and nestled her baby more closely in her arms.

  A sword in this girl's hands?

  Again, over her dead body!

  Though she had to admit that the boys didn't seem to be suffering for it. They loved their time with their father, whether it was in the lists or hanging out in Kendrick's study reading or playing chess. She supposed they could be doing worse things than being outside, learning to do damage with long bits of steel.

  She shivered again. Summer had definitely waned without her truly noticing it. Time flew, she supposed. Perhaps it was time to ask Worthington to do something about the fire in Kendrick's study where she could go nurse her daughter in peace.

  Besides, it would give her a chance to get a good seat so she could watch the conversation between Mr. Kilchurn and Kendrick. She had the feeling it was going to be very interesting indeed.

  * * *

  Chapter 23

  Jake sat in Kendrick of Seakirk's study in a very comfortable chair, mere feet away from where he'd had his first encounter with Seakirk's ghosts, and enjoyed the warmth of the fire. The castle was, unsurprisingly, as cold as a castle should be, and Jake was as grateful for a fire as he had been eight hundred years ago. Of course, the fire also helped to stave off those shivers that seemed to continually travel up and down his spine, due in part to the sight of Kendrick of Seakirk, as well as the incredible tale he was telling.

  "Let me get this straight," Jake said, for the third time that night, "you were murdered downstairs."

  "Nay, I was murdered in the cellar," Kendrick said, unperturbed, "not the great hall."


  "And you were a ghost for how many years?"

  "Several."

  "Kendrick," Genevieve chided. "Tell him all the details." She sat next to Kendrick with their sleeping daughter in her arms, looking perfectly at ease with the conversation.

  Then again, she'd been married to the man for awhile. Maybe she was past being surprised by anything he said.

  "I told him all the details already," Kendrick said. "He slept through most of them. If he truly wants the details again, he can go downstairs and read my story in that book you made me write. He might need another few days of sleep before he takes that on." He looked at Jake. "Suffice it to say that Robin was indeed my father, as you guessed. And courtesy of events in 1260, I was a ghost at one time, but now I am not." He gave Jake a small smile. "The details of my… conversion are of no import here."

  "That's your opinion," Jake muttered.

  Kendrick shrugged. "'Tis the truth. What does my past have to do with your future?"

  What indeed, Jake thought to himself. Just the fact that Kendrick could, with one nod of his head, assure Jake that he actually would make it back to the past, get himself a title, and live out his life in bliss with Kendrick's aunt. He burned to ask, Will I become your favorite uncle or is there some other—he had to take a deep breath to avoid an uncomplimentary term—guy who will have that pleasure?

  But if he found out the truth, would it change what he intended to do?

  Kendrick studied him for several moments in silence, but Jake didn't allow himself to wonder why. He wouldn't ask Kendrick if he recognized him. After all, the man's hall was full of ghosts. Maybe that look of "wow you just fell into my entry hall in medieval gear" really meant "my ghosts dress better than you do," not "hey Uncle Jake great to see you."

  "Well," Jake said, raising his arms over his head and marveling over how much easier it was to do in a borrowed sweatshirt than a borrowed mailshirt, "I have to agree. Your past doesn't make any difference to my future."

  "And unfortunately, I know nothing of time travel," Kendrick said honestly. "I daresay you aren't the only one who has done it. Indeed, I always suspected that one of my aunts was not of medieval birth."

  "Did you?" Genevieve asked in surprise. "You never said anything about that."

  Kendrick shrugged. "I suppose I never really connected the two until Jake arrived. But Abby was most definitely a woman ahead of her time." He looked at Jake. "She wed with my Uncle Miles. Quite a sporting wench, that one."

  "To put up with him, she would have had to have been." Jake said with a smile. "Though I liked him very much."

  "Aye, as did I," Kendrick agreed.

  Jake rubbed his hands together and decided that the only way to keep himself from tackling Kendrick to the ground and beating the truth out of him was to distract himself. "I should probably make a few phone calls," he said. "As much as two days of being unconscious in your guestroom has helped, I think I need to get back to real life. My secretary is apparently in hospital."

  "Drugged as well, do you think?" Kendrick asked.

  "I hope not," Jake said grimly. "But I can say that she never would have gone willingly. I should try to find out…"

  And then it occurred to him just how incredibly bad that could be. Alerting anyone to his whereabouts, that was.

  Very bad, indeed.

  He looked at Kendrick. "I think I have a big problem."

  "How so?" Kendrick leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "You told me that you were placed in the sanitarium against your will, but not who had done so. Have you any ideas on that?"

  "I think it was my father," Jake said slowly. "It's just a suspicion. Who else would manage to take over my company so fully that an innocent call to my assistant would end up with me being drugged for a month?"

  Kendrick stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I suppose there might be more than one answer. I have lads who might be able to do a little investigating for you."

  "Could they eavesdrop for me?" Jake asked.

  Kendrick grinned. "They would consider it fine sport."

  "Then if you don't mind, I think I'd like to make a couple of phone calls."

  "Let me round up the reinforcements."

  Jake watched Kendrick rise and leave the study with a spring to his step and an off-key melody on his lips. Jake smiled at Genevieve.

  "He is a great deal like his father."

  Genevieve returned his smile. "I envy you having met them. Robin and Anne, I mean."

  "I can't blame you." He shook his head wryly. "Can you believe this? Here we are, just your average, run-of-the-mill Yanks, living out these unbelievable adventures. Who would have thought it?"

  "Who indeed?" she asked. "But think your adventure has been a bit more interesting than mine."

  "I'm not living with ghosts. I think I'll take the flesh-and-blooders over your crew."

  "And I'll keep my Mini Mart," she said with a laugh. She patted her baby gently. "No, I don't think I could go back to the Middle Ages."

  "Not even for Kendrick?"

  "Unfair," she protested.

  "What is unfair?" Kendrick asked, popping back into his study. "My handsomeness, or my skill with the sword?"

  "Both," she said promptly, taking his hand as he resumed his seat next to her. "And I would have gone back to medieval England for you. Just for the record."

  "And given up chocolate?" Kendrick shuddered. "You must love me well."

  "I do."

  Kendrick put his arm around her, then looked at Jake. "My lads are ready. Give me a list of where to send them and you'll be able to make your calls within minutes." He smiled. "Not even EasyJet is this efficient."

  Jake nodded and prepared to give Kendrick his list.

  He could hardly wait to see what turned up.

  An hour later, everything was in place for at least the first foray into current events. Jake picked up the phone and dialed AE, Inc.

  "Gideon de Piaget, please," he said in his smoothest, diamond-buying voice.

  "Who is calling, please?"

  "I'm an old friend of his, from Eton," Jake lied. "I'd rather surprise him, if you wouldn't mind."

  The secretary protested. Jake insisted. She finally connected him with a muttered "highly irregular" under her breath.

  Jake went through two more secretaries, each more inquisitive than the last. Apparently two months in the Middle Ages hadn't diminished his ability to sweet-talk his way through the ranks to the boss. It took several minutes, but finally Gideon was on the line.

  "Yes?" Gideon said shortly.

  "Gideon, it's Jake."

  There was silence on the other end of the phone for quite some time. "Jake?" Gideon said in a strangled voice. "Jake Kilchurn?"

  "In the flesh."

  "I thought you were dead!"

  "I'm most definitely not, but it was a near thing."

  "Where have you been?" Gideon asked incredulously. "Why, we looked… we thought…"

  "It's a long story," Jake said. "I'd be happy to tell you the whole thing, but not over the phone. I just need to know what's been going on for the past couple of months. Can you fill me in?"

  Gideon blew out his breath. "This is just such a shock. I'm still trying to regain my balance."

  "Regain it in a hurry."

  Gideon laughed, but it was a shaky sound. "Well, when you never arrived at the inn, I assumed… well, we assumed the worst. My father contacted your father, of course. Mr. Kilchurn III flew over immediately and began the investigation himself. He told us the local authorities said your car had burst into flames and that you had perished inside."

  "No, I survived. I've just been…"—he flashed Kendrick and Genevieve a smile—"out of touch for a while."

  "Well, we thought you were dead."

  Jake considered. He had the gut feeling Gideon was on his side, and it was always best to go with his gut. He chose his next words carefully. "I've been in an asylum for the last little while," he said slowly. "Drugged. Commit
ted against my will."

  "Impossible," Gideon said, aghast.

  "Very possible," Jake corrected. "It's because of that that I'm reluctant to trust anyone at present."

  "I understand," Gideon said. "Tell me what you need. If I can help, I will, and on your terms."

  "You should," Jake grumbled. "Fate. A trip to Artane. What rot."

  "You should still go to Artane," Gideon said, and Jake could hear the smile in his voice. "I'm telling you that there are untold goodies there for a treasure hunter like yourself."

  "I'll think about it."

  "Do. Now, what can I do for you?"

  "Do you know anyone discreet?"

  "My sister-in-law Iolanthe's family tree is simply crawling with men named Discreet. Name your task and I'll have answers for you as fast as humanly possible."

  "You'd better be careful," Jake said. "All I did was call my secretary and I wound up drugged out of my mind."

  "I'll be careful."

  "Then if you can do something else, make some quiet inquiries and see what my father's been up to. If he's had me declared dead—"

  "The funeral was a month ago," Gideon said. "Didn't you know?"

  Jake found himself to be perfectly speechless. Well, his father hadn't wasted any time, had he? If Jake hadn't known better, he would have suspected his father of orchestrating his entire journey back into medieval England.

  But if his father had possessed any idea of what Jake would find in the past, he would have no doubt orchestrated a trip into shark-infested waters instead.

  But to think that he was legally dead was unexpected.

  Unexpected and unsettling. What of his assets?

  What if he had no assets?

  "Jake?"

  "Sorry," Jake said, snapping back to the present. "That was a little shocking."

  "I thought it was premature," Gideon was saying, "and there were rumors that no body had been found, but your father is a powerful man, even here."

  Jake took a deep breath. "What happened to my company?"

  "As far as I know, he left it be. I haven't checked lately, though."

  Well, at least something was as he'd expected it to be. "You had no reason to check. Damn my father to hell." He rubbed his hand over his eyes. "Did you finalize that first deal with him?"