All for You

by Lynn Kurland

  It was then that he’d begun to consider with deadly seriousness the germ of the idea he’d had at Chattam Hall. What if he could convince one of the early lords of Artane to set aside something for future generations?

  Or, rather, for him?

  He had left Peaches sleeping peacefully, driven like a fiend north, and arrived at his ancestral home well before dawn. He’d written the aforementioned notes, then slipped out of the castle before dawn and retreated to where he was now, the appropriate spot near his father’s keep, to consider possible destinations in time. He’d known where the gate lay partly because he’d seen Pippa step through it to the past, and partly because he could see it there, shimmering in the morning sun.

  He’d wondered how many souls had stepped on that unassuming patch of ground and found themselves in a place they hadn’t intended to go? Or perhaps it only worked at certain times and for certain people.

  He sincerely hoped the time and the person was right at the moment.

  He hoped for either Rhys de Piaget or Mary’s father, Robin. He didn’t know either of them himself, but he knew from very brief and uncomfortable conversations—the discomfort coming from his side, of course, thanks to his inability to believe the things he was hearing—with both Mary and John that either man was reasonable, fair, and shrewd. Robin was the more unreasonable swordsman, spending innumerable hours in the lists torturing his guardsmen, but both had loved Artane. Stephen supposed he could have chosen any number of men through the ages to visit, but for some reason, he was drawn to the past.

  The artifacts were worth more, actually.

  He looked up at his father’s keep in front of him, closed his eyes, then stepped forward.

  The sense of vertigo was so strong, he stumbled forward until he finally found his footing in a layer of crusty snow that hadn’t been there a heartbeat before. He looked up, almost dreading what he would see.

  The floodlights were gone, but it was Artane, thankfully. He had no idea what the year was, but he would find that out soon enough. Perhaps things would go very well, and he would meet Robin just a month after John had left him—

  He shook his head. That would mean that Nicholas should have been in his early thirties at their last encounter, which he certainly wasn’t. And those sons of his, the blond twins who had bought them a meal at the inn when he had gone back to rescue Peaches, those lads had been perhaps twenty, possibly younger. If the gates worked according to the wishes of the person using them, then perhaps he would arrive in the past soon after the last time he’d been there.

  The thought of it gave him a sharp pain between his eyes, actually, so he turned his thoughts to something else. The sun was beginning to rise over the sea. He watched it, then sighed. Some things never changed, thankfully.

  He kept a careful eye on the guards he could see standing on the walls, then made his way up to the gates. He was stopped, which he expected, and his business demanded, which he also expected.

  His announcement that he had a message for the lord of the keep from his brother was apparently enough to earn him a trip inside the gates. He could only hope the journey wouldn’t end inside Artane’s dungeon. He knew what that place felt like in the twenty-first century. He had no desire to experience it in all its medieval glory.

  He held it together quite well, to his mind, until the moment he found himself standing in front of one of the hearths in the great hall. There was something profoundly strange about standing in his own home, the home he had lived in from the moment of his birth, yet knowing he was standing in the same spot eight hundred years before he’d been born. He was surrounded by guardsmen, which didn’t surprise him. What he hadn’t expected was to be facing the lord of Artane and feeling as though he were looking into a mirror.

  That de Piaget ancestor was older than he was, substantially, but he carried himself like a young man. He was roughly the same age as Nicholas had been, so Stephen wondered if it might be Robin himself.

  “Lord Robin,” one of the guards said sternly, “this man here presented himself at the gates and said he had a message for you. Said he needed to deliver it himself.” He handed over Stephen’s sword. “He was carrying this.”

  Stephen watched Robin pull the sword halfway from the sheath, freeze briefly, then resheath the sword. Very well, so it couldn’t be mistaken for anything but a modern sword. He’d had it made to his specifications by a man Ian MacLeod had recommended without reservation. Robin looked at it again, then handed it back to Stephen.

  “Nice sword.”

  “Thank you, my lord Artane.”

  Robin lifted an eyebrow briefly. “I believe, lad, that you should follow me.”

  “But, my lord,” said the guardsman, aghast.

  “I believe, William,” Robin drawled, “that I can handle this dangerous lad here for as long as it takes to cut his business from him. You may follow us to my solar and stand without. If I need aid, I’ll call for you.”

  Stephen glanced at the guard and found himself the recipient of a lingering dark look. He doubted anything he could say would improve matters, so he kept his mouth shut, his hood close around his head, and followed Robin across the great hall.

  It was, he had to admit, very, very strange.

  Once they had reached Robin’s solar, which was actually still the lord’s solar in Stephen’s time, and Robin had shut the door and bolted it, Stephen began to breathe a bit easier. He wasn’t any less weary, though, and it took a fair amount of control not to simply sit down across from Robin when he cast himself down into a chair and looked up at Stephen casually. But he waited, because that was his grandfather, the usual number of generations removed sitting there, and he had been taught decent manners.

  “Take off your cloak, lad, and let me have a look at you.”

  Stephen pulled his hood back, then took off his cloak completely. He watched Robin as he did so, wondering what the man’s reaction would be.

  Robin would have made an amazing poker player.

  “Who are you?” Robin asked politely.

  “Stephen, my lord.”

  Robin studied him. “And your father?”

  “Edward, my lord,” Stephen said. “The twenty-fourth Earl of Artane.”

  Robin rubbed his finger over his mouth, as if he strove not to smile. “Interesting. I assume you have a particular reason for presenting yourself at my hearth at such an early hour.”

  “For aid.”

  “Did your sire tear my poor hall to ruins?”

  “Nay, some fool somewhere along the way gambled it away to the bastards from Kenneworth and the current duke has decided he’ll call in the marker.”

  Or words to that effect.

  Robin shook his head. “That Hubert of Kenneworth is a terrible pain in the arse. He’s never been fond of us, but recently his ire has become unreasonable. Do you know he claims that one of my, ah … er—”

  “Natural sons?” Stephen supplied gingerly.

  Robin looked at him darkly. “Aye, one of those—the number of which is ridiculously inflated, I’ll have you know. He claims that one of those lads gave him a right proper thrashing. He’s vowed retribution.”

  Stephen cleared his throat. “I believe, my lord, that I might need to assume responsibility for that brief encounter.”

  Robin pursed his lips, but his eyes were twinkling. “I’m unsurprised. And not unhappy to know that one of my lads was behind the fray.” He waved Stephen down into a seat. “Tell me of these troubles you’re having.”

  Stephen sat, accepted a wonderful rich ale that he hoped would leave him sober, then told in as few words as possible what had happened with David.

  “And have you seen proof of this … marker?” Robin asked.

  “Yes,” Stephen said, “a copy of it. My attorney agrees it is binding.” He paused. “My lawyer, I mean.”

  “We have them, too,” Robin said in disgust, “and I’m certain they cost just as much gold now as they do in your day.” He studied Stephen
. “You look like you haven’t slept.”

  “I haven’t,” Stephen said. “I’ve been in a fair bit of haste.”

  “I’ll find you a bed in a minute, but first satisfy my curiosity. Who do you know there in that Future of yours?”

  Stephen sipped. “Zachary Smith and his wife, your daughter, who is expecting a child.”

  Robin almost dropped his ale. “Damnation, but I’ll never accustom myself to this. Who else?”

  “Your son Kendrick, his wife, and their six children.” He looked at Robin. “Five are lads, just like him.”

  “And Nick’s wife, Jennifer, is your brother Gideon’s wife’s sister,” Robin said easily. “Is that right?”

  Stephen blinked, then laughed a little. “Aye, my lord, that is right.”

  “You’ll have to tell me the names of my grandsons,” Robin said, “and the wee granddaughter. But later. Let’s find you food first. I’ll join you, for I have a full day’s work still before me and need something strengthening.”

  Stephen followed Robin out of his solar, then happily helped himself to a substantial breakfast in Artane’s kitchens, accompanied by Artane’s lord who apparently wasn’t above eating at the worktable whilst his staff went about the work of the day.

  Stephen did his best to ignore the surreptitious looks he got.

  “Are my clothes so poorly chosen?” Stephen asked finally.

  “I daresay they think you’re a relation,” Robin said, looking amused. “And no doubt admiring your cheek to show yourself at my hall. I’ll leave it to you to speculate on just who they think you might be.”

  Stephen felt his mouth fall open. “How awkward.”

  Robin snorted. “Not for you, I’d imagine, but ’tis damned awkward for me. Let’s go find Anne and get introductions out of the way. I’ll find you a bed and let you sleep for a pair of hours whilst I give your tangle a bit of thought.” He slid Stephen a look. “Unless you had a solution already.”

  “I was thinking a hefty bag of gold stuffed behind a rock in a fireplace.”

  “Stephen, my lad, it would take more than one, I imagine.” He rose with the ease of a man in his prime and picked up his sword. “We’ll speak on it later, perhaps in the lists. You do know how to wield that sword, don’t you?”

  “Barely.”

  “Well, that’s something we’ll work on right away,” Robin said with a grin that sent chills down Stephen’s spine. “No sense in coming all this way and just putting your feet up, is there?”

  “Nay, my lord,” Stephen said. “There isn’t.”

  The rest of the early morning was something of a blur. He met the lady of the house, slurred out a few details for her about her children who were living in a time not their own, then cast himself down on a bed before his eyes closed of their own accord.

  It would take more than one, I imagine.

  Robin had said those words and Stephen had to admit he agreed. He wasn’t one to act precipitously, but he had perhaps been a bit hasty in his research the night before. He had looked through a list of heirs of Artane to see which one might have been stupid enough to put up the place as collateral for a game of chance. Finding none, he had fallen back on his original idea, which had been to seek out one of the first lords of Artane and convince them to set aside even a small bit of gold that Stephen might sell in the future and pay David Preston off.

  It was obvious he was going to have to think of something else, though he honestly had no idea what that something might be.

  Chapter 25

  “I do believe there is something amiss, miss.”

  “Are they open for tourists today, do you think?”

  Humphreys considered. “Not on a Sunday, Miss Alexander. And this has the feeling of something perhaps less than ideal.”

  Peaches agreed with Humphreys’s assessment of the situation. Artane was, in her experience, a fairly busy place even with just those who came to staff it, but there was something odd about the way the cars in the car park were situated. She jumped out of the car the moment she could and left Humphreys to deal with the parking of Stephen’s Mercedes. She ran up to the castle gates, which were wide open. For some reason that struck her as very unsettling somehow. Mrs. Gladstone was not manning her booth, of course, because it was Sunday, but for some reason the emptiness there only added to Peaches’s unease.

  She ran up the way toward the keep, then slowed to a stop as she came into the courtyard. She stared in horror at the emergency vehicles still there. The door of the ambulance was being shut there in front of her.

  Her first thought was that something had happened to Stephen. She rushed over to stop one of the attendants and find out for sure. That wasn’t difficult considering he was walking without haste to get back inside his truck.

  “What happened?”

  “His Lordship,” the man said, then shook his head slowly.

  Peaches felt her mouth fall open. “Lord Edward?”

  The man ducked his head, as if he feared he’d said too much. He only looked at her briefly before he sidled by and escaped inside the cab of the ambulance.

  Peaches ran past him and up the steps to the front door. She didn’t knock, she simply opened it and walked inside. The first person she saw was Megan de Piaget chasing after her little girl. Megan caught sight of her, scooped up her daughter, and crossed the hall to her.

  “Peaches,” she said with feeling. “Where’s Stephen?”

  “I thought he was here,” Peaches said. “What happened?”

  Megan took a deep breath. “Lord Edward had a heart attack—”

  “Did they already take him to the hospital?” Peaches asked in surprise. “Was that a second ambulance outside?”

  Megan looked very pale. “But he’s dead, Peaches. It was too much for him—oh, I thought you knew.” She put her arm around Peaches and pulled her with her across the floor. “David Preston sent a lawyer this morning with a letter full of exactly what he told us last night. Apparently Lord Edward was so shocked, it—well, it was too much for him.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Peaches said hollowly. “How is Gideon—no, how is Lady Helen holding up?”

  “Devastated, the both of them,” Megan said. “Stephen was here sometime last night and left a note that he was going hiking and would be out of range for a bit. He doesn’t know, and we can’t figure out how to get hold of him.”

  Peaches sank down weakly into a chair in front of the hearth. She had had her suspicions before, of course, but held on to the hope that perhaps Stephen wouldn’t actually do something crazy. Now, though, she was sure she knew where he’d gone. She looked at Megan and saw realization dawn in her eyes.

  “You don’t think,” she began slowly. “Would he?”

  “He would, and he did,” Peaches said. “I’m sure of it.”

  “But why?” Megan asked in surprise. She let her little girl go and sat down in the chair next to Peaches. “What was he thinking?”

  “He was looking for a way to save his father’s hall.” She paused. “His hall now, isn’t it?” She looked at Megan. “That’s difficult to think about, isn’t it?”

  Megan reached out and put her hand on Peaches’s arm briefly. “I wouldn’t think about it, if I were you. I think you’re going to have your hands full just waiting for him to get back.”

  “Waiting?” Peaches said with a snort. “I’m not waiting.”

  “Peaches,” Megan said in a low voice, “you can’t mean to try to follow him.”

  “I’m not going to follow him. I’m going to go off and do my own thing.”

  “I don’t think you should.”

  Peaches had to admit that same thought had occurred to her, but then again, she was in love with the heir to Artane. If she could help him, she would.

  “I’m actually not quite sure where he went,” she admitted. “Or when, rather. I looked through Stephen’s library this morning to try to figure out what went on at the time Artane was gambled away. That was made much easi
er by the books Stephen had obviously looked through the night before.”

  “What did you find out?”

  “That I need to look harder.”

  “And then what do you think you’re going to do?” Megan asked in surprise. “Go back and change history? James MacLeod says it’s catastrophic.”

  “I’m not changing,” Peaches said. “I’m nudging. And I’m not doing anything until I figure out just where to nudge.” She looked at Megan seriously. “Will they mind, do you think, if I go nose around in their library?”

  “Of course not,” Megan said, then she smiled gravely. “You should come say hello to Lady Helen first. She likes you a lot, and it would mean quite a bit to her.”

  Peaches considered. “She won’t ask me any prying questions about Stephen’s whereabouts, will she?”

  “Peaches, my friend, if you’re going to be married to a man who thinks nothing of hopping through time, you’re going to have to learn to lie now and then. You might as well start now.”

  Peaches pursed her lips. “I don’t suppose you’re speaking from experience.”

  “Oh, no, not me,” Megan said with a half laugh. “I just deal with ghosts. Gideon and I leave the time traveling to everyone else. Let’s go find the current lady of the house.”

  Peaches sat for a couple of hours with Helen de Piaget, trying to offer what service and compassion she could. When Stephen’s mother finally went to lie down, she slipped off and headed for Artane’s library.

  She had already spent her share of time looking through Stephen’s offerings that morning, but he’d had no pre-Victorian or Victorian-era books out.

  And for some reason, she just had a feeling that was the era she should be looking in.

  After all, if a man was going to be a gambler and gamble away an entire estate, he would have to have buddies who were willing to put up the same sort of collateral. She thought perhaps it would have been possible at the turn of the twentieth century to find enough landed gents to play cards with, but to her mind it seemed more like something that might have been done during either the Victorian or Regency period.

  She had wondered, now and again, if she might have had an unhealthy fascination with Jane Austen’s world.