by Lynn Kurland
He shook his head in wonder. It was amazing, this adventure he was having. Amazing and almost unbelievable.
But he did believe it. If his surroundings weren't evidence enough, he had many, many conversations with fifteen-year-olds to prove it. Fortunately for them all, his travels had forced him over the years to pick up key phrases and a good accent in short order. Add that to all those years spent conjugating the past pluperfect in French, and he'd rewarded the lads with success in brushing up his speaking skills. That was all good and fine, but it didn't do much to answer the question that had kept him up at nights over the past week.
Why was he here?
What possible reason could Fate have had to plunk him down eight centuries out of his element, short of some paranormal experiment gone horribly wrong?
Amanda.
He stared out the window, scenes from the past few days spent out of his own time passing before his eyes. Amanda soaked to the skin, running around a dirt field, running as though running hard enough might distance her from things he couldn't begin to guess. Amanda descending upon his attackers like a Fury, her hair streaming behind her, her eyes flashing. Amanda dressed like a boy with soot covering her face, come to spring him from the brig with clothes and a friendly hand.
Amanda.
He turned away from the window abruptly. He was here because of some weird cosmic quirk, not because Fate had a hand in it. Amanda was not for him. He had nothing to offer her. He might have been a ruthless businessman, a damned good designer of very expensive baubles, and a master gem hunter, but none of those things would do him any good in medieval England. They certainly wouldn't be enough to win him the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.
No wonder men were still singing her praises eight hundred years later.
Well, there was no point in thinking about it. He would take a moment or two and be grateful he wasn't in the dungeon, then get on with his day.
He looked over his dandy medieval digs. He had a bed at least. John and Montgomery had decided that he would do best to stay with them at all times—lest he wander off and call some high-ranking noble a piece of roasted tripe under sauce—so he found, himself bunking in their room on a cot that one of them had no doubt slept in five or six years earlier. Jake didn't complain about his feet hanging off the edge ten inches. Again, it was better than the breezier accommodations belowdecks. The company was better as well. The twins were, well, he hesitated to use the word fun, but entertaining wasn't too far off the mark.
His own brothers, Charles, Theodore, and William, were a miserable trio. They were each fourteen months apart and, as a cluster, several years older than he. He had arrived on their scene, unwanted and irritating, only to be followed several years later by a baby girl who had been spoiled in utero. Personally, Jake couldn't stand the lot of them. His brothers were selfish, ungrateful, and greedy. His sister was selfish, ungrateful, greedy, and stupid. They hated him, the whole crew, which didn't bother him.
Or so he'd always told himself.
Now, with two younger brothers shadowing him, he wasn't so sure that he hadn't missed having brothers who liked him.
They seemed to like hanging out with him. He knew this because they said as much when they thought he couldn't understand them, discussing his virtues (his height, his potential for hefting really big swords, and his apparent immunity to Amanda's charm) and discounting his flaws (his poor French and his obvious inability to hop on a horse at a dead run), but in spite of all that, he passed muster with them.
All in all, medieval England had turned out to be a good place. He still had no idea what in the hell he was doing there, but maybe there was no real reason. Just a mistake. And one he would have to rectify very soon.
Maybe tomorrow.
Today, he thought as he flexed his chilly fingers, he would ditch those de Piaget brothers and spend the day with someone he shouldn't.
He was walking a fine line and he knew it. Amanda would be marrying someone else and it certainly wouldn't do to get in the way of that. But how could he be so close to her and not indulge in a little admiring? It would be like getting to examine the Crown Jewels at close range and walking away instead. He couldn't do it.
He had a wash with water that was just this side of icy, dried his face on his sleeve, and set out from the bedroom. He would go keep Amanda company for the morning. The morning wouldn't hurt.
He made his way to the great hall, helped himself to some rather edible porridge left on the table, then went on his little explore.
He visited the lists, the infirmary, the garden, and the stables. He left the stables and wandered across the courtyard, nodding and smiling to those he passed. He even attempted a few innocuous greetings and got real answers in return. Life was good.
He paused in front of the chapel. He couldn't imagine Amanda sitting still long enough to meditate, but he'd been wrong before. He stepped up a single step, opened the door, and went inside. He didn't have to look far before he saw a woman sitting on a bench in the front, straight-backed and regal.
Amanda.
He shut the heavy door behind him as softly as he could and leaned against the door frame. He wondered if he would ever get used to the sight of her. A woman who ended arguments eight hundred years into the future, and there he stood, just ten feet from her. Spooky. And he wasn't one to indulge in paranormal musings.
She was perfectly still, with her head bowed, that cascade of long, straight dark hair hanging down her back. It was difficult to reconcile the woman in front of him with the one he'd seen in previous days, riding like a madwoman, outrunning her demons, executing rescues against men half again her size.
He jumped a little when he realized she was looking back at him over her shoulder. He smiled.
"Sorry," he said.
She studied him for a moment or two longer in silence, then tilted her head toward the empty place on the bench beside her. An invitation, or the flaring up of a kink in her neck? Jake decided on the former. He hopped up the aisle and plunked himself down next to her before she changed her mind and fled the scene.
She regathered her stillness about her and sat with her head slightly bowed, her eyes closed. He stared at her, unable to look away. She was, simply put, breathtaking. And if she'd just been beautiful, it would have been enough. But she was tough and apparently outspoken and gutsy. Her brothers were wrong.
He wasn't immune at all.
She looked at him suddenly from under her eyelashes. "Aren't you praying?"
"I should be," he said fervently.
She laughed.
Jake felt like he'd just taken a body blow.
Amanda clapped her hand over her mouth, then dropped her hand back into her lap and bowed her head. But she was still smiling. Jake wondered how it was that a single sound of mirth from a woman he scarcely knew could render him feeling like a fourteen-year-old with his first serious crush. Only he wasn't fourteen. And this was most definitely not a woman he could have.
He sat there for quite some time, just allowing himself the pleasure of sitting next to her, and pondering the complete improbability of it. He stole looks at her, because he couldn't help it. Finally he had to speak, because he couldn't help that either.
"What are you doing?" he whispered.
It took her a moment or two to answer. "Repenting."
"Repenting?" he echoed. "Do you really need to?"
She looked at him fully then. "Always."
"What a troublemaker."
"If you only knew."
He couldn't imagine. The only trouble she probably caused were fights over who got to sit next to her at dinner.
"Do you do it often?" he asked.
"Which? Repent, or do things that merit it?"
"Either. Both."
She smiled. "I am here every morning, if that answers your question."
It did. Perhaps he should be taking a closer look at his own life. A little chapel time wouldn't be such a bad thing for him either.
Was it wrong to dredge up vices with if it meant getting to spend time with Amanda of Artane?
"Your French is more improved even than yesterday," she remarked.
"It is."
"My brothers think you still struggle."
"I like to be…" he searched for the right word in his still not stellar vocabulary, "underestimated."
"Why?"
Why indeed? It was his father's favorite ploy to gain advantage with business adversaries.
"It gives me time to study things," he said, "before I commit to a plan."
Or something to that effect, he hoped. He was beginning to wonder if he was overestimating his verbal abilities.
"I have brothers like you," she said thoughtfully. "Like you, yet still not."
He gave up any pretense of praying and shifted so he could see her better. "How many brothers do you have?"
"Five."
"Five? You poor girl."
She smiled again, and again the sight of it almost knocked him off the bench.
"Aye," she said, "I would have to agree."
"And what are the names of these tormentors?"
"Montgomery and John, you know already. Then there is Miles, Nicholas, and finally Robin. Robin is the eldest and the worst of the lot."
Robin. Jake realized with a start where he'd heard the name and realized with equal shock that he wouldn't have to see Robin to recognize him. Or his wife, Anne, or their four children.
"How many children does Robin have now?" Jake managed.
"One, but Anne expects another babe in the winter." She looked at him closely. "Are you unwell?"
Jake smiled, though he suspected it had come out a bit sickly. All right, it was one thing to nip back a few centuries as casually as you might dash out to the store, but it was another thing entirely to have seen Robin's future.
Then another thing occurred to him and he wondered why it hadn't before.
"Your brother is Robin. Ah, I mean, you're Robin's sister."
She was giving him that look again, the one that said she had known he was a loser but she now was going to give renewed thought to him being crazy as well.
"I'm sorry," he said, rubbing his hands over his face, "I think I'm missing some sleep somewhere."
"Perhaps you lost it in the dungeon."
It was his turn to smile. "No doubt."
She fell silent and the silence grew. Jake didn't doubt what was on her mind. She would have questions. He wasn't sure he could deliver the answers.
She studied him for a moment or two more before she continued. "I am curious about several things—"
"How about we go walk on the beach and I'll tell you what you want," he said. Well, most of what you would want, he added silently. "You do have a beach nearby, don't you?"
"Of course."
He jumped to his feet, then held out his hand for her. "Then let's go. Unless you have other things you need to be doing?"
"Nay," she said. "My curiosity is all that needs to be satisfied today."
And then she very carefully put her hand in his and let him pull her to her feet.
It was literally all he could do not to pull her into his arms. He wanted to wrap one arm around her waist, bury the other in her hair and kiss her until they both were dizzy from lack of air.
She shivered.
Maybe she felt it too.
"Food," she said suddenly, pulling her hand away. "I'll fetch food."
"Good idea." Something to do with his mouth that didn't involve kissing her.
He walked with her down the aisle, his boots scuffing the new stone. He looked at the woman walking next to him, admired her medieval gown, and found absolutely nothing odd about that. He was losing it quickly.
But in his defense, there was much to like about Amanda, above and beyond the woman herself. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he walked with a woman who wasn't after him for some superficial reason. Amanda wasn't asking him about his portfolio or if she could just have one itsy-bitsy peek into his vault to see if there might be something there she might like.
Then again, Jake had no gems in his vault even half as spectacular as the one walking next to him so even if she had asked, she probably would have been unimpressed.
"—wait?"
He blinked, realizing they were halfway across the courtyard and she was talking to him. "What?"
"I'll fetch food. Will you wait for me here?"
Wait?
Wait to kiss her. Wait to tell her to kiss her life good-bye and come with him. Wait to feel himself hit the ground again, because he was almost certain he was still spinning in the Jag that had sent him here.
"Yes," he managed. "I will wait."
She smiled at him again, then turned and ran up the steps to the keep. Jake looked around for something to sit down on, but found nothing. He settled for planting his feet a manly distance apart and trying to pretend he didn't feel as if he'd just been punched in the gut for the third time that morning.
He knew he was swimming in dangerous waters, but he couldn't help himself. He couldn't help himself and he didn't want to. She couldn't be his. But he could pretend for a day or two.
What could it hurt?
He didn't want to think about the answer to that.
* * *
Chapter 11
Amanda stood in the kitchens and held a basket whilst Cook filled it with all manner of food for hungry souls stranded on the shore. She didn't want to be clutching a basket as if it were all that held her upright; what she wanted to do was sink down onto that bench over by the fire and see if she could warm up. Yesterday, she had been certain she'd had a fever. Today it was the chills.
Chills when he touched her.
Chills when he looked at her.
Either she was on the verge of becoming gravely ill, or there was something else amiss with her that she couldn't identify.
"Here ye are, milady," Cook said, covering everything with a clean cloth and giving it a fond pat. "Enough for you and the fine lordling. Can ye carry drink as well?"
Amanda nodded and accepted a bottle of wine. She hefted the basket, took a firmer grip on the bottle, and made her way through the great hall and to the door.
"Mandy, where are you for?" Montgomery called from behind her.
"Nowhere," she threw over her shoulder as she opened the door. "Go see to your swordplay."
Of course, she wouldn't be able to dismiss her guards that easily. She could already see them forming ranks down at the inner bailey gates. She walked down the stairs to find Jake in the same place she'd left him. He immediately reached up and took the basket and wine from her before her foot touched the courtyard floor.
"A beautiful day," he said. "A perfect day to go to the beach."
She could only nod. If she opened her mouth, she would only babble something unintelligible, so she clung to silence as if it were all that could save her, and walked with Jake down to the gates.
Jake seemingly shared her desire for quiet, for he said nothing until they were outside the main gates and had turned toward the shore. He looked over his shoulder a time or two, then handed her the basket and bottle.
"Hold this," he said quietly. "We're being followed."
Amanda looked back to see no one but her guard. She smiled. "Them? Those lads are my guard."
"They're dressed very casually for men pretending to guard you," he said with a frown.
"They're supposed to look like ruffians. At least a few of them are. You'll note there is the odd man here and there, dressed in his knightly gear."
He studied the men for a moment or two more in silence, then relaxed and took back their burdens. "Are they with you all the time?" he asked finally.
"Unless I've managed to elude them by disguise."
He smiled. "How can you possibly disguise who you are?"
"Soot from my father's hearth."
"How effective is that?"
She laughed in spite of herself. "Not very, unfortunatel
y. I did manage to escape the day we found you senseless in the grass, but that was by far my most memorable outwitting."
He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Poor girl," he said softly. "It must bother you to have your freedom curtailed that way. How long has it been going on?"
"Years," she said, surprised that he would understand something that her father and brothers seemed to understand not at all.
The caging of Amanda of Artane.
She might as well have been a prisoner in the Tower of London for all the liberty she had.
He offered her his arm. "Come on. If nothing else, maybe today can feel a little like freedom."
She took his arm and hiked over the dunes and down to the seashore, finding, as seemed to be the case always, that even touching the man was too much for her poor self. She was excruciatingly aware of his every movement. If she could have stopped him, taken his burdens away and put them down, then gone into his arms and stayed there forever, she would have been content.
She felt her forehead surreptitiously with the back of her hand. Still no fever.
Maybe she was losing what little wit remained her. Was this how it felt to descend into madness? She'd known Jake less than a fortnight. It was impossible to love someone in less than a fortnight. Then again, Anne had loved Robin from the start, from the day when he first put a worm down her gown. Jake had been far more courteous than that. How could a woman not appreciate that sort of chivalry?
Jake found a likely spot and set his burdens down. Amanda sat, took off her stockings and her shoes, and sighed in relief at the feeling of her bare toes on the sand. Jake laughed at her.
"I wish I could do that, but it wouldn't be modest."
"One of the few times that being a woman has its advantages," she said archly. "So I will enjoy my toes dipping into the water and not feel a bit sorry for you."
"Don't. I've waded in the surf enough in the past that not doing so today won't hurt me."
He had spent time near the sea? Well, all the better for him because today she didn't want sand between his toes distracting him from the answers she had to have.
