by Lynn Kurland
He shot her a brief look. “Are you humoring me?”
She only shook her head and smiled. “Loving you, rather.”
He took a deep breath. “A run, Chaucer, then you can tell me all about the other.”
“You forgot the green drink.”
He blew his hair out of his eyes, then pulled his sunglasses back down and concentrated on the road.
But he was smiling.
And so was she.
She was still smiling not quite a month later when she stood with him in a little chapel inside the walls of a glorious medieval castle that stood on a bluff overlooking the sea and married him.
Again.
They were surrounded by family and friends and, she was quite sure, several other souls she couldn’t quite see. It was a perfect day that had capped a perfect handful of weeks full of all sorts of things she hadn’t expected.
The first was how fond she would become of his grandmother. The woman was a prodigious shopper, and her taste was flawless and her ability to wring concessions out of snooty couturiers a wonder to behold. And when she wasn’t spending Stephen’s money or haranguing hapless shop owners, she was relentlessly teaching Peaches the ropes of proper British society. She did so in a way, though, that had left Peaches feeling as if it had been her place all along, not just something she had fallen into by chance.
Peaches had managed to sneak a few days in with Tess and John, taking long walks with her sister as she waited for Stephen to finish up class and drive south. They had discussed endlessly the karmic ramifications of three sisters marrying three men from the same family, but come to no useful conclusions except that she and Tess were happy and they hoped Pippa was happy as well.
She had also strolled arm in arm with Stephen’s mother along the shore with Artane watching over them like a dragon perched on the bluff, ready to defend them at a moment’s notice. She had answered all of Helen’s very pointed questions about everything from how it was John de Piaget could look so much like Stephen to just exactly where she and Stephen had gotten married the first time.
Peaches had to admit Stephen’s mother had a strong stomach.
The rest of the time, she’d simply been with Stephen himself, pretending to read while he was working, puttering around in his kitchen, discussing housekeeping at Artane with Humphreys, and trying to decide what she was going to do with the rest of her life. It took her almost a month to decide exactly what that something was going to be, and her inspiration came from a relatively unlikely source.
Anne of Artane.
Peaches had considered at length what Anne would have done if she had been in the twenty-first century with everything and anything she could have possibly wanted at her fingertips, hers just for the asking.
And she knew, because Anne had pulled her aside for a simple but heartfelt discussion of the role Peaches would be taking on in another time. Anne had told her quite bluntly in an endearing mix of modern English and medieval French that if she had had everything she could only imagine Peaches would have, she would have lived her life the same way. She would have loved her husband, loved her children, and loved those who had come within her scope of influence.
Because in the end, nothing else mattered.
Peaches considered that during her wedding day, as she danced with her husband—twice-wed now—and supped with her family, and relished the company of those who had come to wish them well.
She thought about it as she rested in her husband’s arms.
And when she woke to find him gone, she looked over on his pillow to find a note there.
Meet me on the roof—SdP
She put on warm clothes and climbed the stairs of her fairy-tale castle, and walked out onto the roof and into the arms of her handsome prince. And after he’d spent a sufficient amount of time warming her up, she smiled into his lovely eyes.
“Happy, my lord?” she asked.
“Very, my lady,” he said.
She paused, then considered. “Aren’t you freezing?”
“I’m freezing my arse off up here,” he said with an exasperated laugh. “I thought you would rescue me half an hour ago.”
“Is that my job,” she asked. “To rescue you?”
He pulled her closer, made serious inroads into expressions of affection that apparently required no words, then lifted his head and looked down at her.
“We’ll take turns.”
“Well, we have so far.”
He put his arm around her shoulders. “Let’s go discuss that a bit more, shall we?”
She looked up at him seriously. “Have you had enough time on the roof today, Stephen?”
He smiled. “Yes, and I’ll let you know if I need more. But for the moment, I would rather retreat to a comfortable spot in front of a hot fire with you.”
“In your room.”
“Yes, Peaches my love, in my room,” he said quietly. He paused. “Foolish as it might seem not to take the master’s bedroom, this seems fitting somehow, don’t you think?”
She thought many things, not the least of which was that Robin of Artane would thoroughly approve of the man standing in front of her. He was still trying to juggle a graceful exit from his university responsibilities while taking on the entire burden of managing Artane, but everywhere he went, he left people feeling as though they mattered to him. She knew this, because she had gone with him to meet his tenants, watch his students, and bring smelling salts to Dr. Trotter-Smythe when he’d seen her and Tess walking out of Stephen’s office together. Without fail, those who had been the beneficiaries of his interest and time had pulled her aside to tell her how grateful they were to him. Even Irene Preston had written him a very brief note thanking him for not pressing charges against her brother for defamation of character.
She had written Irene a note, thanking her for all her kindnesses at David’s house party those many weeks earlier. She supposed Irene would think it yet another fist to the nose, but Peaches had meant it sincerely. If she hadn’t been trapped in that terrible hovel of a room at Irene’s direction, driven out into the night by Irene’s words … well, she didn’t like to think about where she would be at the moment.
“What are you thinking about?” Stephen asked, his voice rumbling in his chest. “How lovely that hot fire is I left you in our bedroom?”
“Actually,” she said, resting her head against his shoulder and smiling, “I was thinking about that Kenneworth house party.”
“Heaven forbid,” he said with an uncomfortable laugh. “You aren’t.”
She lifted her head and looked at him. “I was. If it hadn’t been for Irene getting you there and making my life miserable, I might still be waiting to fall in love with you.”
“I’ll tell you a secret,” he admitted. “I had no intentions of going—though in my defense I had no idea you would be there—until a trio of very vocal shades appeared in my office and told me I should reconsider.”
“Did they?”
He pursed his lips. “Very well, they promised they would haunt me endlessly if I didn’t march manfully into the fray. But once I found you at Kenneworth House, I found myself thinking about them with quite a bit more fondness.”
“And then you rescued me.”
“At least once,” he agreed. He bent his head and kissed her softly. “And I would do it again a thousand times.”
“Even to medieval England with all its trappings?”
“All its trappings,” he said seriously. “All of it, my love, all for you, as many times as required, and I would never count the cost.”
“But you would rather stay here.”
He laughed a little. “Darling, we have a hot fire in the bedroom and an Aga in the kitchen. Yes, I would rather stay here. Wouldn’t you?”
She looked up at him, lord of the keep under her feet, keeper of her heart, a man who left her breathless every time he kissed her, every time he touched her, every time he looked at her, a man who loved her not in spite of who she
was but because of it …
“Yes,” she said, pulling out of his arms, “I would rather stay here. But not on the roof any longer tonight, aye?”
He laughed and turned her toward the guard tower.
Chapter 30
Stephen de Piaget, Earl of Artane, the former Viscount Haulton, and still-current Baron Etham, stood on the edge of a party in full swing and found himself quite grateful that his hall hadn’t needed the repairs he’d watched Zachary Smith make to Wyckham.
The place was stunning now, what with its second-floor gallery, spectacular Norman arch stretching from one side of the great hall to the other, and authentic-looking tapestries that stretched from floor to ceiling—
He paused and squinted. The tapestries looked like they were moving, but that could have been his imagination. He was, he would be the first to admit, slightly sleep deprived.
That’s what happened when one had a small son who found life too exciting to spend much time asleep.
He looked for his wife and son who were off socializing with souls of various vintages. Mary de Piaget Smith, Countess of Wyckham, had spent the past half hour dancing with her husband, but had now reclaimed her nine-month-old daughter and was talking to one Peaches Alexander de Piaget, Countess of Artane, who held on to her four-month-old son, the Viscount Haulton and future Earl of Artane.
It was altogether humbling to think that for all he knew, Robin of Artane was standing in the shadows somewhere, watching his daughter talk to the woman who was responsible for providing yet another lad to keep Artane’s legacy close to his heart.
The tapestry moved. Stephen wasn’t altogether certain he hadn’t seen the shadow of two heads peeking out from behind it.
“I have a feeling about something.”
Stephen looked next to him to find Zachary Smith standing there, frowning thoughtfully at the tapestry in question.
“Do you?” he mused. “What sort of feeling?”
“A disquietish, paranormally sort of feeling.”
“I believe I’m experiencing that, as well.”
Zachary looked at him. “Didn’t you tell me that Nicholas’s twins—those would be your nephews by marriage, you know—had just happened to arrive at a particular inn at precisely the right moment to feed you and Peaches in the past?”
Stephen nodded slowly. “They did.”
“And didn’t you find it strange that they left you a bag of gold and something else to interest you?”
“A map,” Stephen said dryly, “which I told you about quite some time ago.”
“Interesting that they knew when to find you, don’t you think?”
“Coincidental,” Stephen blustered.
The look Zachary shot him left Stephen pursing his lips.
“Very well, too coincidental for comfort. What are you suggesting?”
“That teenagers are trouble.”
“Especially twins.”
“Your wife could attest to that, I’m sure. I try not to imagine what Kendrick faces with those three boys of his.” Zachary shuddered. “Sometimes it keeps me up at night.”
Stephen thought about pointing out that the child who should be worrying Zachary was his own daughter given the character of her extremely independent and fearless mother, but he refrained.
And then he exchanged a brief look with the Earl of Wyckham before they both strode across the dance floor.
Two blond lads bolted for the kitchens.
It took several minutes to corner them, partly because there were two of them and partly because they seemed to have a more than passing familiarity with Wyckham’s inner workings. Stephen looked around the kitchen to find every exit blocked by men in the family including Zachary, Kendrick, Gideon, and Zachary’s father whose eyes were absolutely enormous. Stephen lifted his arm as Peaches ducked under, holding young Robin. She looked at the boys who were standing back-to-back in the middle of the kitchen, swords in their hands.
“Interesting.”
One of the lads looked at Stephen, his mouth fell open, then his sword fell from his fingers.
“’Tis Uncle Robin. And Auntie Persephone—”
“Don’t be an idiot,” the other lad said, elbowing him sharply in the back. “It isn’t, and that isn’t Aunt Pippa, though she looks a bloody sight like her, doesn’t she? I daresay that’s Kendrick over there.” He paused. “He’s looking passing old, don’t you think?”
“I do,” said the other lad, blanching.
His brother backed up a bit harder against him. “I think we did it.”
Kendrick rolled his eyes and strode forward. “Samuel and Theophilus de Piaget, you are a pair of silly arses.”
The lads threw their arms around Kendrick and hugged him. Stephen leaned against the door and put his arm around Peaches as he listened to the boys babble about their trip and wonder when it was they could get pizza and crisps.
Stephen soon found himself being introduced to and carrying on a fairly decent conversation with the two lads who would save his and Peaches’s stomachs, if not their lives, quite some time earlier. Or later, in their future, which was his past. It depended, he supposed, on one’s perspective.
“Your English is very good,” he remarked at one point.
“We’re bilingual,” Theophilus said proudly. “Aren’t we, Sam?”
“We are,” Samuel said, puffing out his chest. “And a bloody dodgy business it was learning all we have.” He looked at Kendrick. “Where’s the fridge?”
Kendrick only pointed to Zachary. “Ask Mary’s husband. Surely you remember him, lads.”
Theophilus and Samuel gulped as one, then inched their way over to Zachary to offer all sorts of deferential, positive chitchat no doubt intended to leave him offering to put them up indefinitely. Stephen exchanged a look with Zachary, then left the kitchen. Things would go how they went, he would invite the boys to Artane and make sure they knew when they were supposed to be buying him lunch in a few years, then he would happily stand with Zachary and give them both the boot back to where they belonged.
It was for damned sure he wasn’t going to let them near his car keys.
He paused on the way to the great hall and looked at his wife, that lovely, loving woman who had thrown herself into her role as Countess of Artane with an energy and enthusiasm that left him slightly exhausted, actually. Or that could have been the runs along the beach she’d dragged him on until she’d realized right after their second wedding that she was pregnant.
Which he suspected had happened right after their first wedding.
If anyone thought it unusual that she had given birth to a full-term baby eight months after their pictures had been in the papers, they’d been too discreet to say anything to her face and too intimidated to mention it to him.
They would tell their son the truth, someday. After all, Stephen couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t find out there was more to Artane than just thick walls that kept the weather and the world at bay.
But until that time, he would be the keeper of its secrets, the defender of its inhabitants, and the man who passed every day of his life profoundly grateful for the woman who had been willing to plot her path alongside his.
He had truly been blessed far beyond what he deserved.