Dreams of Stardust

by Lynn Kurland

  "Damned chameleon," Robin said cheerfully. "I thought I had him there, but obviously lowering your guard to a Kilchurn is a poor idea. You'll note, however, that he did not best me with the sword."

  Amanda snorted at him, but that was apparently not enough to deter him. He continued to babble about his own prowess until Amanda had to fold her arms over herself to keep from reaching over and slapping him. "Mother," she said finally, in exasperation, "please shut him up or remove him from the field. He's distracting me."

  "Robin, love, give your sister a bit of peace," Gwen said, "before she takes a blade to you and you find yourself bested by her as well."

  Robin had quite a bit to say about that, leaving Amanda no choice but to merely do her best to ignore him. She watched her father and noticed immediately what he was doing. He started Jake out slowly, with the simplest exercises he used with his own young pages. That didn't last long. He moved on quickly to more complicated defenses and a thorough test of everything he taught first to his squires, then to his knights.

  Jake held his own.

  "You know," Robin whispered in her ear, "I don't think any of the other baggages you've endured ever made it this far, do you?"

  "What I think is that if you creep up on me thusly one more time," she said, finding it quite easy to glare at him now that he was suddenly standing next to her, "I will plunge the dagger you so kindly chose for me into your belly and count myself well rid of you!" She elbowed him in the ribs for good measure. "Go stand by your mother where she might protect you from me."

  "Well?" Robin asked. "Do you?"

  She wanted to wring her hands, but that would have looked weak. Instead, she clasped them demurely in front of her and looked at the field where Jake and her father were still hard at it. "I cannot bear to think," she said. Then she looked at her brother. "He's not showing that poorly, is he?"

  "He stands, still," Robin said simply. "What else is there than that? It isn't as if it is in his best interest to humiliate his future father-in-law now, is it?"

  "He would never manage that," Amanda said quietly.

  "Not if he's wise," Robin said cheerfully. "Though Jake certainly could hold his own if he needed to. He could relieve Father of his sword, use his hands and feet, break a bone or two—by the saints, Amanda, have you no idea whom you're giving yourself to? Not my equal, of course, but a lethal man just the same."

  Amanda couldn't do anything but nod weakly. Indeed, there was much more to Jake than met the eye.

  "Ah, but look you there, Amanda. See how Father begins to fight truly? It won't last long now."

  Amanda watched, winced, and prayed. It lasted far longer than she suspected it would, but in the end, Jake was forced to cry peace. He resheathed his sword, then made Rhys a low bow.

  "Good," Robin murmured. "Flatter him, then plead your case."

  Which Jake seemed to be doing. Rhys put his hand on Jake's shoulder and they walked off together, chatting amicably. Amanda looked for somewhere to sit. Robin provided a stool and Amanda sank down upon it gratefully.

  Her father and Jake walked to the far end of the lists, spoke for an impossibly long time together, then turned and came back toward where Amanda was fair to swooning off her stool. Rhys smiled at her.

  "Not a bad showing," he said magnanimously. "Of course, there are a few more things I must discuss with this man before I come to a decision about him."

  Amanda swallowed finally, realizing that it had been some time since she'd done so. Whilst it wasn't a final word of approval, it wasn't instructions on how to find the front gates either.

  And she had heard her sire deliver those more than once.

  Rhys did invite Jake in for supper and a parley after the meal. Amanda would have congratulated Jake on his efforts, but her father pulled him away. Jake shot her a look, then continued on with her sire. Amanda sighed and walked back to the house with her mother and her babbling brothers. Even Isabelle seemed to have far too much to say.

  But the first test was over. Now all Jake would have to do was tell her father the truth about himself and avoid the gallows.

  Supper was an unusually merry affair. Amanda found herself favored enough to sit beside Jake as he sat beside her father. Rhys and Jake were well into a very pleasant meal, discussing in a very animated manner the idea of a free Scotland, when the door to the great hall burst open and half a dozen men strode inside.

  Men leaped up and would have stopped the intruders if Rhys hadn't suddenly called on them to halt. He remained seated, though, looking completely at ease.

  Lord Ledenham strode to the high table, then tossed into Rhys's supper a large sack of gear and a smaller, black folded purse. His other arm, apparently a broken one, was strapped to his side. He gestured with his good hand at Jake.

  "His gear. The warlock at your table."

  Jake was halfway to his feet before Rhys pulled him back down calmly.

  "Ledenham," Rhys said without inflection. "Gifts? How kind."

  "You'll think differently when you examine those things," Ledenham said coldly. He fixed Jake with a scorching look. "I think a charge of witchcraft is not unlikely—"

  Robin stood and hopped over the table before Amanda could gasp.

  "By the saints," he drawled, leaning back against the table and folding his arms over his chest, "can you not do better than that, Ledenham? I know Amanda is fetching, but is she worth this? Accusing an innocent man of something so foul…" He shook his head sadly. "It bespeaks a man so desperate to have what he wants that he has forgotten there is a price to be paid for lying."

  Even Amanda wasn't past the point of misunderstanding his meaning.

  If Ledenham didn't retreat, Artane would attack.

  Under the table, she put her hand on Jake's knee and squeezed. She didn't look at him and she supposed he wasn't looking at her, but his hand covered hers.

  By the saints, 'twas a disaster.

  Rhys picked up the little black purse from out of his stew and dried it on a cloth. He lifted the sack with equal ease and handed it and the purse behind him to Christopher.

  "Take these to my solar, little one. We'll repair there momentarily." He looked back at Ledenham. "I would offer you the hospitality of my hall, but unfortunately we are just finishing supper and preparing to retire. Perhaps another time."

  Lord Ledenham glared at Rhys. "I tell you he is a warlock. His gear—"

  "How do you know 'tis his?" Rhys asked, with a puzzled frown.

  "Because I took it off h—" Ledenham suddenly stopped, then fell silent.

  Rhys looked at him quizzically. "You took it off him? Do you imply that you stole from this man here?" He put a possessive hand on Jake's shoulder. "This man who is a welcome guest at my table?"

  Ledenham's face was a very unattractive shade of red. "I will accuse him before every soul who will listen," he spat. "I have proof."

  "Show it," Rhys said easily.

  Ledenham glared at Jake. "Fetch me the purse."

  Jake blinked in confusion. "Purse? What purse?"

  "That ruse will not suffice you," Ledenham said with a sneer. "All my men here saw it and they will swear to its supernatural contents."

  "And all my men will swear they saw nothing," Rhys said. "Sir Walter," he called, "have our good men seen anything odd?"

  Sir Walter was standing near the door with his arms folded across his chest in his most intimidating pose, flanked by a handful of Artane's guardsmen and faced across the way by a handful more.

  "Odd?" Sir Walter asked. "We've seen nothing odd, but my lord, I must say that there is a remarkably foul smell which has wafted inside the great hall just recently."

  Rhys smiled pleasantly. "Apparently, my good Ledenham, there is nothing to be seen here."

  "Will your children perjure themselves for you as well?" Lord Ledenham demanded furiously.

  "I believe," Robin said, giving Ledenham a shove, "that you just called my father a liar."

  "You too, Rob, I'd say," Ni
cholas offered.

  Ledenham was fool enough, unsurprisingly, to draw his sword inside Artane's hall. It was not easily done, nor was it easily wielded, given that Ledenham's right arm was the injured one. Robin chortled, then swore once he realized the weakness of his opponent.

  "Oh, by the saints, return when you can fight," he said in disgust.

  "I can fight," Ledenham boasted. "Raise your sword like a man and let us see if you can hold your own against me and my weak hand."

  Robin shrugged, then paused. "I'll fight with my left," he said magnanimously. "To give you a sporting chance."

  "I could best you with my sword held in my teeth," Ledenham boasted.

  "We'll try that later," Robin promised, then, with a grin, threw himself joyously into the fray.

  "I should help," Jake said, starting to rise.

  Amanda stopped him with a hand on his arm. "I understand you humiliated him at the abbey. Allow Robin his little pleasures, if you can."

  Jake sat back down. "I suppose."

  Amanda leaned back gingerly against her chair and watched as Robin humbled the man in a matter of minutes, not bothering to rid him of his sword in any impressive manner. Robin merely stepped in at an opportune moment and grasped Ledenham's good wrist.

  "Will you die," Robin asked, "or will you leave?"

  "I'll kill you," Ledenham spat. "See if I don't."

  Robin yawned. "As you will." Then he took his sword hilt and pressed it quite firmly against Ledenham's forehead.

  The man slumped to the ground with a groan.

  "Remove the refuse," Robin boomed.

  Ledenham's men collected him and scurried from the great hall. Sir Walter and a large contingent of Artane lads followed them out the door. Amanda looked at her sire.

  Would he think Jake was of that supernatural ilk?

  Jake cleared his throat. "My lord, there are things we should discuss—"

  Rhys rose. "Then come with me, if you will. Robin, Nicholas, you two will come as well. Miles, stay here and see to your mother and the girls." He smiled at Montgomery and John at the end of the table. "You lads can see to yourselves, can you not?"

  "I would like to come, Father," Montgomery said, rising quickly and making Rhys a low bow. "I like Jake, you see, and I might be a voice in his favor where he has none other."

  Amanda thought she just might have to make certain her youngest brother had many, many fine things from the kitchens in the future.

  Rhys nodded at his youngest son. "I suppose you may come. Jake will no doubt appreciate your presence." He put his hand briefly on Amanda's head as he passed behind her. "Daughter."

  "Father," she whispered. She looked at Jake as he rose. "Good fortune to you, good sir."

  He smiled in a most determined fashion and left to follow her father from the great hall. If he were ill at ease, he hid it well. Amanda looked up as her mother moved to sit next to her.

  "Interesting," Gwen said.

  "Mother, he is no warlock."

  "And why ever would I think that?" Gwen asked, blinking in surprise.

  "You wouldn't," Amanda said, chewing on her lip to keep herself from blurting out things she shouldn't. She wasn't certain what Ledenham had thrown at Jake, but she suspected it was something containing items from the future.

  Proof, perhaps.

  She toyed with the remainder of her dinner and gave that a goodly bit of thought. Would she wish to see those things, to prove to herself that he was what he said he was, or would she take him on faith?

  She thought about that for a very long time.

  Her answer might make all the difference.

  * * *

  Chapter 35

  Jake listened to the study door shut behind him with a click. His gear and his wallet sat on what served Rhys for a desk. Well, no sense in not getting it all over with at once. If Rhys de Piaget was going to have him burned for witchcraft, he might as well have a full complement of reasons for doing so.

  Rhys lifted the rustic sack, then looked at Jake.

  "With your permission?"

  Jake nodded. What else could he do?

  Rhys emptied out the sack. Jake watched as his clothing was laid out: his jeans; his shirt; his jacket.

  Of course his boots were missing. A nicely broken-in pair of Doc Martens were just too good to pass up, apparently.

  Rhys examined the items one by one with meticulous care. Then he carefully folded them and set them aside.

  "More light, if you please."

  Robin fetched two candles, lit them, then put them on the desk. Rhys sat down and took Jake's wallet in his hands. He turned it over this way and that, then opened it.

  He looked at the paper money, the fifty-pound and the one-hundred-pound notes, with no noticeable change in expression. He held them up to the window to stare through them, then held them close to the candle. Not close enough to burn them but close enough to see.

  A man used to using firelight for reading, apparently.

  Rhys set those things aside. He then searched further in the wallet, pulling out credit cards.

  And a driver's license.

  Jake watched him closely, but Rhys's face gave absolutely nothing away. If he thought he was handling devilish things, he gave no indication of it.

  Rhys fingered the credit cards over and over again, looking at their markings and setting them aside one by one—only after a lengthy examination.

  But it was Jake's license that he lingered over the longest.

  Rhys looked at the photo—a bad one, as usual—then looked up at Jake. He compared the two, holding the card up and studying it. It was a New York license. Jake made a point of returning to the States every four years to get one. He'd never been sure why he did so, but he carried a US passport and a US driver's license. Much as he loved England, he was, after all, an American first and foremost, and giving up tokens that said as much had been unacceptable.

  It occurred to him finally that as calmly as Rhys was taking things, there were those in the room who were taking those same things less well. Noises of alarm, dismay, and the purposeful repeated clearing of throats finally forced Rhys to look at his sons. Jake did as well.

  Robin was rocking from foot to foot, barely able to restrain himself.

  Nicholas was gaping.

  Montgomery was crossing himself again.

  "Montgomery," Jake began in exasperation, "I am not a fairy!"

  "He is not a fairy," Rhys agreed. "He is a man, just as you or I find ourselves to be. These are merely things of a merchantry nature which Jake has acquired in his travels. Am I right?" Rhys asked, looking at Jake with eyes as gray as a stormy, midwestern sky.

  "Yes, my lord," Jake said.

  "But—" Montgomery said miserably.

  Rhys smiled at Montgomery. "You have done your service to Jake just by being here thus far and I will press on as if you were here to speak for him. But now I wish you to go and see how your mother fares." Rhys paused for a moment. "If you do so quickly, and without complaint, then perhaps Jake will take you on one of his travels someday and you will see the same wonders he has."

  Montgomery looked at Jake rapturously, all thoughts of fairies apparently forgotten in the possibility of a good adventure. "Will you?"

  "Merchantry is a dodgy business," Jake said with a nod. "It never hurts to have a fine swordsman at your side. I would welcome your company."

  Montgomery threw his arms around Jake, then bolted from the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Nicholas put his hands on his hips.

  "There is something very odd going on here," he said sternly, "and I for one would like to know what it is."

  Jake looked at Nicholas and smiled. "I'm a fairy."

  "Not amusing," Nicholas snapped.

  "The truth is odder than that."

  "I am not witless, nor am I possessing a faint heart."

  It sounded hauntingly like Amanda. Jake took a deep breath. "All right, then, here it is. I was born eight hundred years from n
ow. In the Year of Our Lord's Grace 2005, I heard ghosts talking about your sister, and believe me that eight hundred years from now she is still causing a stir. The next day, I was out traveling and found myself thrown through a gate from my time to yours. After I fell in love with your sister, I determined the only way to have her was to return to the future to retrieve my fortune. And now here I am, back in the past and hoping that your father will refrain from marrying your sister off to someone else until I can get a title and some land."

  Nicholas looked at him in complete silence for several moments, then he looked at his father. "He's mad."

  "He seems quite in possession of all his faculties to me," Rhys said blandly.

  Nicholas came to stand very close to Jake. "You're mad."

  Jake shook his head slowly. "I'm not."

  Nicholas scowled. "And I was beginning to like you." He turned and walked from the chamber, slamming the door behind him.

  Rhys looked at Robin. "And you? Have you anything to say?"

  Robin shrugged. "I saw him disappear through a time gate with my own eyes. Whilst I cannot answer for Jake, I can assure you that I am not daft." He clapped a hand on Jake's shoulder, then walked toward the door. "Ledenham put me off my food. I'm off to find more."

  And with that, he left the chamber, shutting the door behind him.

  Jake turned his attention from the door back to Rhys, who was sitting back in his chair. Jake managed a brief smile.

  "And you, my lord?"

  Rhys shook his head slowly. "If I was not viewing this with my own eyes, I daresay I wouldn't believe it."

  "I could say the same," Jake said dryly.

  Rhys indicated the chair opposite him. "Sit."

  "Thank you, my lord." Jake sat. All right, so he collapsed more than sat, but he'd had a very long day so far and it didn't look to be shortening any time soon. He smiled. "Thank you."

  Rhys studied him for what seemed an eternity in silence. Then he looked at Jake's driver's license again. "2005," he said, chewing on the numbers as if he'd never considered them before. " 'Tis unbelievable."