by Lynn Kurland
“I want the bathing suit competition tonight,” Cindi said with an enormous yawn. “Better find a two-piece. Those get better marks from the judges. I should know.”
“I imagine you do, my lady.” He managed to shut the door before Cindi could reach for him. “Bolt the door, Your Majesty.”
Pippa heard the bolt slide home, then found her hand taken by a man who was obviously not going to waste any time in hightailing it away from danger.
“Run,” he suggested.
She did. She ran with him all the way out to the stables that were now being seen to by a stable master who had been sent, along with a handful of horses, as a gift from his brother Miles. Montgomery and one of the stable lads saddled two horses before she could come up with a good excuse why she couldn’t do what he wanted her to. Before she knew it, she was looking at the horse Montgomery had chosen for her. She looked at the stirrup, then at Montgomery.
“I don’t suppose you have any suggestions on how I’m supposed to get my foot up there.”
He cupped his hands. “Put your knee in my hands and I’ll give you a leg up.”
Up and over, she was sure, but apparently she was more graceful than she’d suspected. Either that, or Montgomery was a better horseman than she’d given him credit for being. Her mount moved around a lot more than she remembered from one disastrous and very brief ride at a Renaissance faire in her youth, but Montgomery seemed to think nothing of it.
“Hold the reins thus,” he said, demonstrating, “and try not to squeeze with your knees. Steud will think you wish him to go faster, else.”
Well, she certainly didn’t want to give the beast any ideas. She frowned. “What’s his name again?”
“Steud.” He paused. “ ’ Tis a Gaelic word.”
“What does it mean?”
He smiled, and that appalling dimple peeked out at her again. “Horse.”
She laughed in spite of herself. “Very original.”
“Lazy, curious, and unoriginal. I’m revealing all my finer characteristics today.” He looked up at her. “I suppose that leaves me with no choice but to investigate yours this afternoon as we ride.”
“I’ll save you the trouble. I’m terrified, terrified, and really terrified,” she said, trying not to clutch both her reins and her saddle. She hazarded a glance at him. “You’re going to scrape me off the ground when pony boy here leaves me behind, right?”
“Will it ease your terror if I say aye?” he asked politely.
“You know, you’re not funny.”
He smiled again, a tiny little smile that was so utterly charming, she couldn’t help but smile in return.
“You might hold on to the saddle if that makes you feel more secure, but we won’t do anything but walk today.”
“Dull for you,” she managed.
“Somehow I’ll manage to stay awake.” He put his hand over hers. “Don’t pull on the reins. Steud will stop if you just sit back and breathe out.”
“If I sit back, I’ll fall off.”
“There is a back on your saddle, my lady,” he said, “so you needn’t worry about that. Just follow me until we are free of the gates. Then we’ll ride together.” He shot her a look. “I promise to catch you if you fall.”
She didn’t imagine he would manage that, but she wasn’t going to argue with him. She held the reins as lightly as she could manage in one hand and clutched the front of the saddle with the other. Steud seemed to sense there was something very wrong with his rider and bless him if he didn’t follow along behind Montgomery as docilely as a sleepy, exhausted lamb.
It was, she had to admit, a very lovely afternoon. Montgomery didn’t say much past commenting on the superior qualities of her horse and the beauty of the fall colors. She confined herself to the subjects of his health and the weather and might have thought she’d fallen into a Jane Austen novel if it hadn’t been for that quite useful sword her companion was packing and the fact that she could generally see not too far away a castle that was firmly rooted in the Middle Ages.
Well, that and she realized after only ten minutes that they were most definitely not out riding alone.
She looked at Montgomery, feeling startled. “Who are those men behind us?”
“Our guard.”
She swallowed uncomfortably. “Do we need a guard?”
He considered his words for a moment or two. “Were I out riding by myself, I might possibly go alone, but I am not alone and I have given my word to keep you safe.”
She fanned herself with her reins before she thought better of it, which seemed to send some sort of signal to Steud that she was much improved and ready for a flat-out gallop.
Actually, it probably wasn’t really anything more than a lazy trot, but it almost left her on the ground. Montgomery stopped her horse before she landed on her head, then looked at her with a smile.
“First lesson: don’t flap your reins.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“Second lesson: don’t panic.”
“I wasn’t panicking. I was getting ready to abandon ship.”
He smiled, a deep smile that was so utterly adorable, she almost fell off her horse in self-defense. She didn’t flap with her reins, but she did fan with her hand.
“Hot out, isn’t it?” she asked.
He looked up at the cloudy sky, then back at her. “I think it threatens rain.” He looked at her. “Is that daunting?”
It was half out of her mouth that she was a Seattle girl and his light English drizzle was not intimidating in the least, but she stopped herself in time and simply shook her head. Then she decided there was no reason in not being honest about part of what she was thinking. “I’d rather stay out here for a bit longer,” she admitted. “Even if it means taking my life in my hands to ride this demon horse.”
“Then we’ll make another circle around the castle,” he said.
“Is that what we’ve been doing? Going around in circles?”
“I thought if you fell off, I could at least carry you back home without too much trouble.”
“Careful, my lord. Your chivalry is showing.”
“Montgomery. My name is Montgomery.”
She laughed a little, because she couldn’t help herself. It was ridiculous and foolhardy and could only lead to a serious crack in her heart, but she couldn’t not, just for the day, pretend that there was no good reason not to enjoy a lovely day with a very lovely man and a horse that hadn’t killed her yet.
Life was good.
Even in medieval England.
The afternoon had waned completely before she rode with Montgomery into the courtyard. She followed him over to the stables, then found herself very grateful when Steud stopped moving. Montgomery dismounted easily, then walked over to hold up his arms for her.
She let him help her down, feeling rather more breathless than she should have. She backed up, before she lost the remains of her good sense. He only nodded toward the hall, seemingly unaffected by the day’s events, then walked with her through the ever-present layer of muck without comment.
He stopped just outside the hall door. “How often does she take those little pills?” he asked quietly.
“Maybe every four hours.”
“What is your decision regarding them?”
Pippa took yet another in the series of deep breaths. She wasn’t happy to be responsible for her sister’s life, but she obviously had no choice. “I think I should keep letting her have them, though maybe not so often.” She paused. “I can’t guarantee what she’ll do if they wear off.”
“We’ll confine her to her chamber, if need be,” he said grimly. “I’ve seen drunkards suffer from a lack of drink.”
“This will be much worse.”
He looked at her seriously. “I want you within sight at all times. Do not leave if I’m not with you.”
She nodded weakly.
“We’ll discuss other things pertaining to your future in my solar later.” He paused
before he spoke again. “I imagine you will want to return home as quickly as you’re able.”
“Of course,” she agreed. “Thank you.”
He cocked his head to one side. “Thank you, who?”
She smiled. “Thank you, Montgomery.”
“You’re welcome, Persephone.”
She walked into the hall first, because he held the door open for her, then walked alongside him because he’d taken her by the elbow and didn’t seem inclined to let her go. It was, as she’d noted several times earlier, completely ridiculous to even feel the slightest bit affected, especially since she wanted to return home as quickly as possible.
But still, she couldn’t quite keep herself from imagining things she knew she shouldn’t have. She was in a castle—albeit a very dilapidated castle—she was keeping company with a very chivalrous—albeit noble—guy, and her sister probably wouldn’t stay awake all evening so she might actually be able to enjoy the fairy tale for another night.
She would figure out in the morning just what she was going to do to get back to real life.
She was, surprisingly enough, not particularly looking forward to it.
Chapter 13
There were places a man might be willing to go and things a man might be eager to accomplish for the cause of chivalry and knightly virtues, but Montgomery decided that stooping to singing in front of his garrison was not one of them. That had never been a written rule at Artane, but he was certain his father would have agreed with him, as would Robin. Nicholas had a stronger stomach than the rest, but even he might have balked at the things Montgomery had been asked to do since dawn.
He had no idea what a bathing suit competition was, but it seemed to involve parading about in something close to his altogether, so he hadn’t bothered to dignify that request with a response. He had no mind to blather on about the benefits of world peace, either, especially given the always dodgy relationship between England and most of the rest of the known world. That had left him facing a very stern-looking Faery Queen, who had demanded, whilst shoving her crown back atop her hair that was now hanging about her shoulders in straggling locks, that he produce a talent, such as dancing, or singing, or performing on an instrument.
He would rather have put his own eyes out with hot pokers than dance before his men, even though he would have admitted, if pressed, that he had in the past not embarrassed himself at court when called upon to caper about to music. His trio of lads had generally been in the garrison hall during such humiliations, which had been a relief. He supposed he could sing without causing others to wince and play the lute without sending hounds to howling in agony, but to do any of it because Cinderella required it?
Never.
He’d been tempted to immediately and quite loudly express his refusal the night before, but he’d caught sight of Pippa’s rapidly darkening eye. She had looked at him without any expression at all on her face. It hadn’t been a look of pleading; it had been, well, just a look. Perhaps the most unsettling thing about that look was that he’d understood it without having to have it explained to him. She was trying to keep her sister’s ship on an even keel and a bit of aid in accomplishing that would have been useful.
So, he had accepted the blow to his pride and agreed the night before to sing for Cinderella the next day—in his solar. He had put off the unpleasant exercise until the afternoon in hopes that one ballad might be enough to put her to sleep, leaving him free to see to other, more pleasant tasks, such as pretending to read what Fitzpiers handed him whilst listening to Pippa and Phillip discuss the foibles of the king. If he managed to put Cinderella in a deep sleep, he also might manage to spirit Pippa away for an afternoon ride.
All of which left him where he was, finished with his morning’s duty in the lists and deigning to humor Cinderella so he might have what he truly wanted.
Cinderella swept into his solar as if she had truly been a queen, waited for Phillip to arrange a chair for her, then sat. She pushed her crown back up from where it had fallen forward over her eyes, then took a moment to focus on him before she waved her wand imperiously.
“Begin,” she commanded.
Montgomery glanced at Pippa, who was sitting on a little stool near Fitzpiers with her arms wrapped around her knees. He lifted his eyebrows briefly and had a faint smile in return. There was obviously no more opportunity to stall, so he sat down in a chair, took the lute his grandmother insisted he bring with him in hand, and dredged up a ballad or two.
He supposed he wasn’t mortally embarrassed, for the knowledge of the more refined arts could surely be counted among the knightly virtues, but he couldn’t help but be vastly relieved when midway through his third song, he heard the welcome sound of snores. He immediately—and gratefully—stopped his song.
“Oh, don’t,” Pippa protested immediately, then clapped her hand over her mouth as Cinderella sat up and looked around blearily.
She frowned, then leaned her head back against the hard wood of the chair and drifted immediately back into slumber. Pippa waited for a moment or two before she spoke again.
“Don’t stop,” she said quietly. “It was lovely.”
He pursed his lips. “Do you enjoy seeing me so discomfited?”
She smiled. “As entertaining as that is, I was actually just enjoying your music.”
He supposed she wasn’t teasing him, so he started his song over again, but quietly. There was no sense in waking sleeping royalty before he had to. Once he’d finished with that, he simply played for a bit, snatches of things he’d heard on his travels and other things he’d taken a fancy to at court.
“You’re very good, you know.”
He shrugged. “My brother John is—was—much better, but he is gone so ’tis left to me to carry on the tradition, I suppose.” He set his lute aside and rose silently. “How long will she sleep?”
“Hopefully all afternoon.”
He walked over to her and pulled her up to her feet. “Let’s ride.”
She looked up at him. “Do you need to think?”
“Aye,” he said seriously. And have you to myself would have been the next thing out of his mouth if he hadn’t had such self-control. He looked at his squire. “Play something if she begins to stir. She won’t know ’tis you if you sit behind her.”
“Phillip plays as well?” Pippa asked as they left the solar.
“My grandmother, who has attained a truly alarming age, requires it of all her grandchildren and their children. I think she was sorely vexed when my father took her daughter to live so far in the north, and this is her way of making certain we aren’t a pack of savage hounds.” He walked across the hall with her and out toward the stables. “I apologize. I didn’t ask you if you cared to ride.”
“I still can’t walk from yesterday,” she said with an uncomfortable half laugh, “but I’ll go along if you like.” She paused. “I’m ready to be free of the walls for a bit.”
He nodded, then silently saddled her horse for her. He likely should have put her up on a docile mare the day before, but the truth was he’d wanted her on something speedy should trouble arrive. He had very vivid if brief memories of killing a man who’d tried to make off with her soon after her arrival in his time. That lad had been nothing more than a fool obviously quite desperate for a way to extort a bit of money for Pippa’s safe return. But another man with more skill, or more desperation . . . Montgomery shook his head. There were so many dangers in his world that she was unprepared for.
Not that it mattered, in truth. She wouldn’t remain with him forever, so his dangers would not forever be hers. He wasn’t sure why the gate hadn’t worked for her that night Cinderella had pushed her into the moat, though he supposed he bore some of the blame for that given that he’d startled Pippa before she’d been able to make a proper go of things.
He hadn’t been able to do anything else. He’d been following them, then noticed something that bespoke too clearly of someone else lurking outside who perhaps
shouldn’t have been. He hadn’t had the chance to investigate, though he hoped he didn’t come to regret that at some point. For all he knew, it had been Everard, looking for something else to add to his already overlarge store of murky tales about the de Piaget family.
He shook aside his unproductive thoughts, but remained silent until they were away from the keep. He finally turned to look at Pippa. “We should discuss your plans for returning home. I fear your sister’s wits will not last much longer.”
She studied him for a moment or two in silence. “Then you believe me?”
“I have no reason not to.”
“I was afraid you would think I was a witch and burn me at the stake,” she said with a weary smile.
“No burnings here,” Montgomery said lightly, though he supposed that might not have been the case in another keep. He attempted a smile. “You will want to return soon, no doubt.”
“Of course,” she said firmly.
Montgomery would have liked to have believed she sounded less sure of that than she had earlier, but he had, over the past se’nnight, found himself entertaining many more romantic notions than usual. It had obviously had a detrimental effect on not only his common sense, but his hearing.
“I’m just not sure what to do,” she continued quietly. “I don’t think that spot on your bridge works anymore—and it’s not as if I have a map of other portals through time.” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “I imagine I don’t dare run around and ask a bunch of other people if they’ve seen refugees from the Future.”
He cleared his throat. “Nay, I don’t think I would, were I you.”
She studied him for so long, he thought about squirming—if he’d been one prone to squirming, which he most definitely was not. He just hoped his thoughts didn’t show on his face.
Aye, he knew where other portals were.
He would likely be damned for not being terribly fond of the thought of taking her to one.
“You haven’t seen anyone else like me come through your front gates, have you?”
“Never,” he said honestly. And he hadn’t. He had never seen any woman from the Future come through his front gates.