Dreams of Stardust

by Lynn Kurland

  "Yes, more papers were provided and he delivered them to my father himself."

  "I'll just bet he did."

  "It's baffling," Gideon said. "He has made simply buckets of money in this deal alone. I can't imagine why he would have needed more—or needed your business, for that matter. I thought he didn't like gems."

  "He doesn't, and he likes me even less." Jake sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. "I need a few more details. I need to know what's happened to my accounts, if he has power of attorney for me, if my assistant is being sedated as well, or if she's even alive."

  "Did you have a will?"

  "I left everything to my assistant," Jake said simply. "Penelope knew the business and would have taken care of it. Besides, it would have cankered my father."

  "I daresay," Gideon said with a laugh. "I have a thought. I have a cousin-in-law who is a very good attorney. I'll contact him to resolve the legal issues."

  "Is he discreet?"

  "Alex is not only discreet, he's frightening," Gideon said. "Besides, he knows a few guys. He's your man."

  "If you say so." Jake considered for a moment or two, then issued another careful invitation. "We should meet."

  "Of course. Where?"

  Jake looked over the phone at Kendrick. "How about Artane?" he mouthed.

  He watched Genevieve reach over and take Kendrick's hand. Kendrick stared at him briefly with no expression on his face, then he nodded.

  "I have a place in mind," Jake said, "but since I'm not sure your phone isn't bugged, I'll keep it to myself. I'll get a location and time to you soon."

  "You're paranoid."

  "You would be too if you were me."

  "Well then, 007, I'll await your instructions. I suppose this line is secure?"

  "One could hope," Jake said, with feeling. "I'll see you later."

  "Welcome back to the land of the living."

  "For the moment," Jake said as he hung up. He looked at Kendrick and Genevieve and smiled. "One down."

  "And your father?" Kendrick asked.

  "Well, I imagine he wasn't weeping at my funeral," Jake said dryly. "I think I'll wait until I have more information before I take him on." He studied Kendrick for a moment or two. "You hesitated when I mentioned Artane."

  Kendrick pursed his lips, but refrained from comment. Genevieve patted his knee.

  "He hasn't been back," she supplied. "Not since, well, you know. And before, he couldn't leave Seakirk."

  "Really?" Jake asked, surprised. "You haven't been back?"

  "I wasn't sure how I should introduce myself," Kendrick said with a straight face.

  "I see."

  "No sense in terrifying my great-nephew several generations removed without good reason."

  "I see that too," Jake said with a smile. "But I think it might be the safest place for me to meet Gideon. If there are unwholesome elements out there gunning for me, I don't think I want to bring them here."

  "Despite my security?" Kendrick asked with a smile.

  "You have small children," Jake pointed out. "I don't know that His Lordship does, and if he does, they are likely of age and not so vulnerable."

  Kendrick sobered. "You are taking this seriously."

  "I was unconscious for a month," Jake said. "I have no choice. Besides," he said, rubbing his hands together, "I have to get on with the business of getting on with my life, and that includes turning my business assets into those of the medieval kind."

  "Are you sure you shouldn't leave something intact?" Kendrick asked carefully. "Just in case?"

  Jake paused. "I could just ask you if I should, couldn't I?"

  Kendrick sobered. "Do you want to know?"

  Jake considered it. He considered it very seriously. There, sitting in front of him, was a man who would know.

  Or would he? What if Jake could go back and change time, change the events that transpired? He wasn't bound to Kendrick's version of the past—and to hell with the sacred space-time continuum. For all intents and purposes, he was dead in the twenty-first century. It was entirely possible that he could live a very good life in the thirteenth. He would certainly be a better husband to Amanda than the two men he'd seen come courting her.

  Nicholas was a different story, perhaps, but Jake might be saving them both a lifetime of turmoil if he married Amanda.

  Did he want to know?

  It wouldn't make any difference to his plans.

  "No," he said slowly, "I don't."

  "You would go ahead anyway," Kendrick said.

  "I would."

  "Then we'll wait for my eavesdroppers to return," Kendrick said. "And after that, we'll do some more investigating. We have Internet access here, you know. You could find out many things via computer. I have much knowledge of the beast and many favorite sites."

  "EBay," Genevieve said dryly. "You'd be surprised what kind of medieval gear people are hiding in their garden sheds, just waiting for my husband to hop online and buy."

  Kendrick had no defense for that, so he merely grinned and shrugged. "A man adjusts to his time in history as best he can."

  Jake leaned forward. "So, what was it like, watching eight centuries of history unfold before your very eyes?"

  "Frustrating," Kendrick said, "given that I was a ghost and could not do as I liked to influence it. I am not accustomed to being an observer only."

  "An observer only?" Genevieve echoed incredulously. "Seakirk has lived in infamy for centuries because of the terrifying paranormal presence within its walls. You don't think you influenced current events?"

  "I never said I didn't influence events," Kendrick said with a twinkle in his eyes. "I just said I couldn't influence events the way I wished." He trailed his fingers through Genevieve's hair. "Had you any inkling of Seakirk's reputation when you first came here?"

  "You know I didn't," she said with pursed lips, "or I probably wouldn't have had the guts to come." She looked at Jake. "I was the last direct descendent of Matilda of Seakirk available, so I inherited the castle while I was happily living a very successful life in San Francisco."

  "The last available one?" Jake asked. "I'm surprised. You would think there would be plenty of them."

  "There were," Kendrick began with a modest smile, "several who were quite unfortunately unable to claim their inheritance." He shrugged. "Insanity runs rampant in the family, I daresay. Save my Gen, of course, who is a woman of remarkable good sense and excellent taste."

  Genevieve let him pull her close. She smiled up at him. "So very true."

  Jake smiled. "So, are you ready to head to Artane?"

  Kendrick took a deep breath. "Why not? I've seen photographs. It looks as if it hasn't changed all that much in the ensuing years. A few additions, but nothing too shocking. I can manage it." He looked at Genevieve. "The children will be interested, no doubt."

  "Do they know?" Jake asked. "About your past?"

  Kendrick shook his head. "We decided we would tell them when they reached their twelfth summer. I daresay the wee ones will learn it from their elder brothers, but that is to be expected. They are already accustomed to the ghosts, so perhaps the other tale won't be so upsetting to them."

  "A trip to Artane might be very instructive," Genevieve said. "After all, the triplets do know that you're related to the de Piagets. They just don't know that the Robin, Phillip, and Jason they're named for lived hundreds of years ago."

  Kendrick nodded at Jake. "We'll go with you. If nothing else, perhaps we can pass the time pleasantly in the lists. I assume since you have a sword, you know how to use it?"

  "A week with your uncle Miles, then three with your father to my credit. Three weeks of pure torture."

  "I can imagine," Kendrick said with a grin. "He was my sword master as well. I'm surprised he was willing to train you. He was notoriously stingy with his expertise."

  "So I've heard. Repeatedly," Jake added.

  "It wasn't that he was unwilling to train others," Kendrick continued. "He was
just very choosey. He wasn't about to train anyone who might, whilst bragging about the identity of his master, turn out to be a complete failure. He must have thought you showed some promise."

  "Either that, or he was feeling particularly charitable," Jake said dryly. "But I accept your offer. I would be very happy to get in whatever practice I can."

  "We can start tomorrow, if you like," Kendrick offered.

  "I like," Jake said. "If you don't mind, could I use your computer? I think I could do some poking around without being too obvious."

  Or he could call Thad and have one of Thad's buddies do some super-secret hacking for him.

  Kendrick rose. "The office is down the passageway. I'll show you where it is. Just let me know if you need help. Or a nap." He smiled pleasantly. "I am my father's son, after all, and my swordplay has not suffered from eight hundred years of seasoning."

  "I'll just bet," Jake muttered. He thanked Genevieve for her hospitality so far and followed Kendrick to the office, where he was left to his own devices.

  He was momentarily tempted just to stare out the window at the countryside and wonder what Amanda was doing at that very moment, but that wasn't useful. He couldn't control the speed at which time passed and he had no idea how long it was going to take him to get back to medieval Artane.

  If he got back to medieval Artane.

  That was another possibility—the possibility that he might not get back—that he had no desire to dwell on. Kendrick would have been a masterful poker player; he gave nothing away. Jake was left to his own imaginings and those were not going to serve him.

  It struck him again, with a sickening flash, that he might have lost everything of value he possessed: his business; his bank accounts; his trust fund.

  All the things he planned to use to buy Rhys de Piaget's favor.

  If his father had declared him dead, who knew what else was in the works?

  With an effort, he shook aside those unwholesome and useless thoughts and focused on what he could do something about, which was damage assessment. He would deal with the rest later.

  He picked up the phone and placed a call to the States. Thad was a good place to start. At least Jake was certain that Thad's phone wouldn't be bugged.

  And that seemed, right now, like the best news he'd had all day.

  * * *

  Chapter 24

  Amanda stared down at the handful of papers scattered on her father's desk. They were full of attempts to draw as Jake had taught her to do. Unfortunately, they were also full of horrible mistakes: blotches; crooked lines; shapes that were not recognizable.

  She took them into her hands and then, with great vigor, crumpled them into balls and cast them into the fire. She watched the flames lick at them, then consume them.

  Fitting.

  "Amanda?"

  She spun around, feeling almost guilty about her actions. But why should she? Certainly she was within her rights to destroy whatever she pleased, especially when it turned out to be so much less than it promised to be.

  Miles stared at her dispassionately. "What are you doing?"

  "Nothing."

  "Are you unwell?"

  She shook her head.

  "Waiting is difficult," he said simply.

  Amanda knew if she remained, she would weep, so she brushed past Miles and ran for the roof before he had the chance to examine her more closely. She knew what he would find. He would find a woman whose heart was broken, who had waited in vain for a man who had obviously changed his mind about her.

  Even Robin had begun to have his doubts. She knew this because he had been uncharacteristically silent about the whole affair. He trained with her still in the lists, but his cheery disposition had deteriorated as time had worn on and his frowns had increased.

  It had to mean something.

  Even Nicholas's mood had darkened in direct proportion to how long Jake had been away. Perhaps that had nothing to do with her. Perhaps he was anxious to return to Wyckham and finish his repairs before winter.

  Perhaps he merely waited to tell her that she had been a fool and deserved her heartache.

  She didn't think overmuch on that.

  What she had been thinking on, almost constantly since he'd gone, was Jake. She had wondered, at first, if he hadn't been waylaid. Even Robin had suggested the like. But Amanda had seen him, even without his sword. She had no doubts that unless he'd been shot in the back with a crossbow at close range, there wasn't a man in England who could best him if Jake could avoid being skewered on that man's sword.

  Had he forgotten about her?

  Or had he changed his mind?

  She'd tried for days to convince herself that the latter wasn't true. But now, after so much time had passed with no word, no message, no indication that he loved her still, she had to concede that he had indeed changed his mind.

  Which left her where she'd been at the beginning of the summer.

  Ready to flee.

  She walked along the parapet wall and looked out over the countryside. She was no longer tempted to cast herself into the sea. Again, the sea was too far away, but that wasn't the reason. She knew that if she'd tried it, she likely would have injured herself seriously enough to ruin her life but not seriously enough to cause her death. She leaned her elbows on the rock wall and stared, dry-eyed, at the sea before it.

  It gave her no pleasure.

  It certainly gave her no peace.

  "Amanda?"

  Amanda closed her eyes briefly, prayed for strength, then turned to look at her brother. The one with whom she shared no blood. She tried to smile.

  She failed.

  Nicholas took a step closer to her, then stopped and leaned against the wall. He hesitated, then looked out over the sea.

  "The summer has waned."

  "Aye," she said hoarsely.

  He was silent for quite some time. It gave her ample opportunity to look at him and struggle to see him with different eyes.

  He was beautiful. Even she could admit that. His fair hair only made the gray eyes he shared with Robin all the more startling. And to be sure there was not a more pleasing set of features in all of England. His form was manly and powerful, surely something any maid would have counted herself quite fortunate to gaze upon all her days. If it had just been the outward appearance that Nicholas called upon to recommend him, he would have been far and away the most desirable man in England and France both.

  But not only was Nicholas beautiful, he was chivalrous, skilled, noble, and kind. Indeed, he was the embodiment of all knightly virtues.

  And he made her laugh.

  She closed her eyes briefly. There had been a time or two—more than that if she were to be entirely truthful—when she had fancied that she loved him. She had wondered, at night in the quiet dark, if there might not be a way for it to come about.

  For her to be his.

  Had she not in her heart of hearts wondered if Nicholas might be willing to relinquish all to have her? His title, his lands, her gold—all because she was more important to him than those worldly things.

  Because if he wed her, he would most certainly be stripped of everything he had.

  It was, in truth, impossible.

  And so had seemed any chance of her finding a man to love.

  Until she'd seen Jake lying senseless in the grass.

  It was unfair perhaps to compare him to Nicholas, but they were much alike in temperament, and not unequal in the beauty of face and form. Jake had made her laugh as well. He had stolen her breath and loved her in spite of herself.

  Or so she had thought.

  "Amanda?"

  And now this. She looked away. It was all she could do not to break down and sob.

  He covered her hand with his own. "Amanda, I must speak."

  "Oh, please do not," she begged. "Nicky, I beg you."

  He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward him, looking down at her with serious gray eyes. "Amanda, I will and you must list
en. If you bear me any love at all, you must."

  "You know I do," she said miserably. "But there is no purpose in this."

  "He is not returning, Amanda. It grieves me to be the one to force you to accept it, but you must. Whether it is from his own will or something else, the truth is still he is not coming back." He paused. "Damn him to hell."

  Amanda smiled in spite of herself and the tears that coursed down her cheeks. "Ah, Nicky."

  Nicholas looked down at her seriously. "Wed me. Wed with me instead and I will make you forget him."

  "If I were," she took a deep breath, "if I were to wed with you, Nicholas de Piaget, it would not be to forget him."

  Hope filled his face. She'd never seen him look so desperately, so painfully hopeful in her life.

  "Then you love me?"

  "Does it matter?"

  "Aye."

  She would have turned away, or gone into his arms, or bolted for the door, but he held her where she was, damn him.

  "I love him and I cannot have him. I love you and I cannot have you. What am I to do?"

  "Wed with me," Nicholas said fiercely. "Wed me and let the king go to the devil. There is no consanguinity between us."

  She closed her eyes and let the tears trickle down her face unchecked. It mattered not if there was no blood relation between them. They both claimed Rhys de Piaget as their father through adoption and that was all that would matter to the court and to everyone else in England with an opinion on the matter.

  Not that she cared about the opinions of others. If disfavor with the king and other nobles had been the extent of her troubles, she would have told them all to go to the devil and wed with Nicholas just the same. But the trouble lay deeper.

  Deep within her heart.

  Damn that Jackson Kilchurn to hell. He did not deserve her affection or her regard or any of her time. Nicholas did. A pity she couldn't give it to him.

  She opened her eyes and looked at Nicholas, ready to tell him he would find someone else, that he really didn't love her, that he would be so much happier with someone else—

  Anything but the fact that she, in the end, could not love him as he wished.