by Lynn Kurland
The old man looked at Kendrick and his family, looked at Jake, looked at the bodyguards, then scowled and scuttled back through the gates and on up to the castle. So much for being unannounced. Jake caught up with Kendrick and Genevieve as they walked underneath the barbican. Kendrick stopped once they were inside the outer walls and simply stared at the castle.
"Real knights don't flinch," Jake murmured.
"Damn you," Kendrick growled. Then he took a deep breath, looked at Jake, and smiled ruefully. "I daresay I deserved that."
"I daresay you did."
Kendrick looked at the path leading up to the inner bailey gates, then sighed and put his shoulders back. "I assume they're expecting us?"
"Well, they're expecting me," Jake said easily. "I just said I was bringing some friends. You're supposed to have your explanation ready. What, do I have to think of everything?"
"There are lists here as well as at Seakirk," Kendrick said pointedly. "I could demand a meeting with you there at dawn."
"I'll be there. But now, if I were you, I'd be thinking of a good cover story. Or you could just try the truth. Then again, maybe we should take a measure of Lord Edward's constitution first. If he looks like a pantywaist, we'll just lie."
Genevieve laughed. "Jake, you aren't making this any easier for him."
"I owe him several moments of discomfort." He put a hand briefly on Kendrick's shoulder. "Actually, Gideon's meeting us at the door and he's already talked to his dad. Apparently they have all kinds of spooky things going on here at Artane."
He smiled pleasantly. "They're not in the Top Ten, but then again, that's just the printed list. Maybe they're Number Eleven."
"If not, I could make that happen for them," Kendrick said grimly. "I know a few shades who wouldn't mind dividing their time between Seakirk and somewhere new."
Jake smiled and continued on up the way with Kendrick. It hit him, suddenly, that he was almost in Kendrick's shoes. Here he was, walking up the same path he'd walked up in borrowed medieval boots, but now he was wearing his own pair of modern, rubber-soled shoes. His jeans and sweatshirt were a far cry from tights and tunic. He paused under the inner bailey's barbican gate and looked out into the lists. They had a different look from their medieval counterpart, but take away the grass, the extra stone buildings, and that little red Mini over there in the corner, and things were about the same.
Only he knew that the family he wanted to become a part of was not inside.
He sighed and walked with Kendrick and Genevieve up to the keep. Jake climbed the steps, then waited for Kendrick to knock. After all, Kendrick had been born here, lived out the majority of his youth here. It was right that he get them inside.
"I feel as though this is no longer my home," Kendrick mused. "After all these years." He looked at Jake. " 'Tis passing odd."
"Maybe they'll give you visitation rights," Jake said.
The door opened suddenly and Gideon stood there, all smiles. Until he looked at Kendrick, that was, and then his mouth hung open.
Jake understood.
"Gideon de Piaget, meet Kendrick, earl of Seakirk," Jake said. "Kendrick, meet your nephew Gideon. Several generations removed, of course."
Kendrick and Gideon stared at each other, apparently unable to do anything else but gape. Jake looked at Genevieve and smiled.
"Could be twins, couldn't they?"
"Except for the hair color, yes, they could," she agreed with an answering smile. "Spooky."
"Very." Jake looked at Gideon. "Well, aren't you going to invite us in?"
"Come in," Gideon said, stepping back, stilling wearing that look of complete astonishment.
"It's Fate," Jake said pointedly. "You know, that thing you told me about?"
"Well," Gideon said finally. "Well, I see."
Kendrick finally held out his hand. "Well met, nephew."
Gideon looked at his hand, then reached out and pulled Kendrick into a manly embrace complete with much back slapping and pounding. And then just as suddenly, he stepped back. He smiled.
"I'm sorry you haven't come sooner."
"I am too," Kendrick said. He hesitated. "Does your father know?"
"Told him last eve during his Schnapps," Gideon said with a grin. "He spewed it all over his very expensive antique carpet upstairs. I'll show you the stain."
Kendrick grinned as well and Jake shivered. He wondered, absently, if that happened often down family lines, where an ancestor and a descendant were so closely matched in face and temperament. It would have made a fascinating book.
Too bad he had other things to do than write it.
He shook hands briefly with Gideon, then hung back and let Gideon lead Kendrick into Artane's great hall. Jake trailed along behind, shepherding children when necessary, and just absorbing the sight of a modern Artane when not. He made nice with Gideon's father, accepted compliments from Gideon's mother about his jewelry, and sat at a very, very weathered high table and enjoyed afternoon tea.
The same table he'd sat at with Amanda of Artane eight hundred years earlier.
He found that it was almost impossible not to think about her constantly while he sat nibbling on cookies and sipping tea. Was she sitting exactly where he was, only centuries in the past? Was she thinking about him? Had she given up?
Please don't give up, he pleaded silently. Just a few more days. Give me a few more days.
"A tour," Edward of Artane announced grandly. "So you will see that Artane has not… er… changed all that much." He paused. "Over the years. Quite."
Jake hid his smile behind his hand. Edward had bold words, but his hand trembled as he waved expansively, and who could blame him? It wasn't every day that the grandson of Rhys de Piaget came to pass judgment on how generations of de Piagets had taken care of the old pile of stones.
Jake went on the tour gladly, walking over places he'd been before, reliving memories, wanting desperately to be back in time walking those passageways with someone, no offense, besides Kendrick.
"The dungeon," Edward said, pointing behind the kitchens. "We have it walled up, of course, for security reasons, but I understand that in the past, it was quite an uncomfortable place."
He shot Kendrick a sideways look.
Kendrick shrugged. "I never spent the night there. Ask Jake. I imagine Amanda tossed him in there first thing, didn't she?"
Jake snorted. "I told you as much." He looked at Edward. "Thank you for boarding it up, my lord. It's not a nice place at all."
"The dungeons are closed, but the cellar is open," Edward said. "We use it as storage now, but I understand in the past—" and here he shot Kendrick another look, "it was used for a great many things."
Kendrick only smiled politely.
Edward looked at Jake. "We've vats of all sorts of history in there, but perhaps you'd care to look upstairs where the finer pieces are kept. We've housed them all behind glass, of course, to keep the odd, sticky-fingered tourist from pinching our history, but you're more than welcome to peruse things as long as you wish."
"Father, why don't we let them get settled," Gideon offered. "Perhaps the rest of the tour might wait until tomorrow. The children might like to go play outside for a bit before supper is ready."
Edward looked somewhat relieved, but not so relieved that he didn't offer Genevieve his arm quite gallantly to escort her back up the stairs. Kendrick trudged alongside Jake across the kitchen.
"Well?" Jake asked quietly.
Kendrick only shook his head. " 'Tis strange, my friend, to be walking in my own home again so long after I'd last seen it."
"How does it look?"
If Jake hadn't known better, he might have seen a bit of moisture there in Kendrick's eye.
" 'Tis in tolerable shape," Kendrick said with a smile. "Tolerable shape indeed. My grandfather would have been pleased." He looked at Jake. "Have you met Rhys?"
"Not yet."
"You would like him. He was a very fair man."
"I certainly
hope so," Jake said, with feeling. He followed Kendrick up the stairs, and accepted a room on the second floor.
The twins' room.
He had to go in and sit down before he fell down.
He had to get back. Soon. All these déjà vus were killing him. He put his face in his hands and closed his eyes. Tomorrow was his meeting with the coin guy. He already had his clothes. All he had left to do was pack and then make the attempt.
He wouldn't fail.
He couldn't.
A soft knock at the door had him heaving himself back to his feet. He walked over to the door and opened it to find Genevieve de Piaget standing there with a baby in one arm and a small suitcase in her other hand. He smiled at her.
"How's Kendrick doing?"
"He's already investigating nooks and crannies without His Lordship's knowledge. If we manage to get a decent meal in this place before we're kicked out, it will be a miracle."
Jake laughed. "I'm not sure Lord Edward can accuse Kendrick of breaking and entering, or stealing, for that matter. It might be Kendrick's stuff to begin with."
"I doubt that," Genevieve said. "He couldn't leave Seakirk, but he certainly had people who could. The one who painted that picture of his family over his desk, Jonathan, was one. I think he made more than one trip to Artane to retrieve Kendrick's things."
Jake looked at her thoughtfully. "How has it been?" he asked.
"Being married to a man for whom modern English is a second language?"
"Something like that."
Genevieve smiled. "Well, I've learned Norman French, if that answers your question." She shook her head with another smile. "It's been a dream from beginning to now. I don't regret it for a minute. Kendrick is a wonderful father, a fabulous husband, and a formidable warrior. I'm just happy he was kept on ice for me for eight hundred years."
"I'm certain you were worth the wait. I hope Amanda will feel the same way about me."
Genevieve nodded encouragingly. "I'm sure she will. I hope you'll find your return trip an easy one." She held out the suitcase. "Here, these are for you. Things to make your trip a little easier still. I've got to run. Baby has had a long day and so has her mother."
"Do you need help with your boys?"
She shook her head. "Gideon's wife Megan is here and she and Gideon have taken the lads on a treasure hunt."
"Like father, like sons."
Genevieve laughed. "At least the lads' hunt is a sponsored one, though I sincerely doubt they'll turn up anything nearly as interesting as Kendrick will." The baby began to fuss and she shifted her in her arms. "Gotta go. See you at dinner."
Jake nodded, then shut the door. He took the suitcase over to a chair and opened it. Inside were several articles of medieval clothing, a new pair of boots made in a very medieval-looking fashion, and a very rustic-looking rucksack to carry them in. And in the bottom of the suitcase was a little box of Godiva chocolates with a note:
For Amanda, because you can never go wrong with a box of wooing chocolate. That is assuming you make it, of course…
K.
Jake smiled, then packed up the gear. He would wear back the clothes he'd come forward in, and save these for a nicer occasion. Perhaps his marriage.
A man could dream.
He stashed his jewels under the bed, then with a final look at the modern incarnation of the room he'd spent so much time in, left it and went in search of supper.
* * *
Chapter 28
Amanda knelt over a bench and flinched at the crack of the birch rod across her back. She squeezed her eyes tightly, but the tears rolled out from under her eyelids just the same. She wouldn't cry out. She knew that her silence infuriated the abbess no end, and she supposed that if she'd possessed the wit the good Lord had given a hedgehog, she would have wept immediately and saved herself the agony.
"Damn you, gel," the abbess said, after a particularly heavy blow, "spew out your penitence! I grow weary of this."
Amanda clamped her lips shut, but the force of the next blow wrenched a goodly bit of breath from her just the same. By the saints, if she could have, she would have risen, taken that stick away from the abbess, and clouted her a mighty blow in return.
Unfortunately she was otherwise unable to rise. And to be honest, she was beginning to doubt her ability to outlast the woman with the rod, who seemed determined to beat a confession of any kind from her.
The next blow convinced her that perhaps a confession might be in her best interest.
"Forgive me, Mother," Amanda said, through gritted teeth. "I have many vices to rid myself of."
The abbess snorted and tossed the rod across the chamber. "Finally! Too many for my poor arm, I daresay. I'll find someone else to aid you in your repentance."
Amanda dropped her head in relief when the woman left the chamber. She had no idea who would come next, but perhaps no one would have the time or desire to help her see the error of her ways. She rested uncomfortably against the bench and wondered just when her plans had gone awry.
Likely at the moment when she had ridden out Artane's massive gates.
Of course, she should have known something was amiss when she had presented herself to the abbess. The woman had recognized her immediately, which had surprised Amanda greatly. Next from her mouth had come not the words "How lovely that you feel a calling to prayer," but "How much do you bring in gold and property?"
Amanda supposed that such was a question a woman in charge of such a large abbey must ask, but it had been the way she'd asked it, as if she were a merchant weighing a bag of gold and already counting in her head how she might spend it, that had been so unsettling.
Merchants.
Damn them all, was she to be tormented by their ilk forever?
She had subsequently been deprived of her clothing and given something resembling a grain sack to wear. That wouldn't have troubled her, having spent the greater part of her life in her brothers' less-than-comfortable clothing, but this chafed abominably and had already rubbed her shoulders raw with its rough seams. She half wondered if the sisters didn't sew thistle thorns into them just to test the commitment of the postulates.
Fasting had been the next order of business. Indeed, she couldn't remember the last time she'd been given anything to eat, but she thought it might have been yesternmorn, and she was almost positive it had consisted of gruel that no one else had been willing to feed even to the hogs.
In short, she was beginning to suspect she had made a terrible mistake.
Even a life with Ledenham could not possibly be this bad.
Her wrists were untied from the legs of the whipping stool and she was hauled ungently to her feet. She swayed. She would have swayed more, but a bracing slap brought her back to her senses.
"Time in the kitchens will serve you better than another beating," a dour-faced nun said curtly. "Best be about your work whilst you have the strength." She looked at Amanda critically. "And put your hair back. Don't know why you didn't have it cut off when you arrived. Special treatment, I daresay."
Amanda tried to braid her hair, but found her arms simply would not go above her shoulders without pain so intense she gasped. A look from Sister Eunice, though, convinced her that pain was the least of her worries at present, so she did her best.
The kitchens. What a boon. Perhaps she would be able to filch something whilst she was there.
She would have shaken her head in disbelief, but that was too painful, so she settled for a silent snort of incredulity at her own stupidity. She had envisioned a life of quiet contemplation, of peace and security. What she had gotten was a place full of more intrigue than court.
Worse yet, she wasn't sure she could escape.
Or that she should even try. She sighed deeply. For once in her life, perhaps she should have more of a purpose than designing escapes from the conditions life placed upon her. This had been her choice. Was she so weak-kneed that she would shrink from the difficult?
Her father w
ould have been ashamed of her.
She put her shoulders back—carefully—and marched on doggedly behind Sister Eunice. She had put her foot to this path; she would continue on and see it to the end.
And after she had repented to Abbess Joan's satisfaction and taken her vows, then her father could be informed and send her dowry to the church. He would have little choice, to her mind. Her commitment would be irrevocable and to refuse to honor her commitment would be unthinkable.
At least she hoped he would find it unthinkable.
She suspected that her lands and gold might be the only thing that would buy her any peace at all from the abbess. They might as well buy something useful.
Her days flowed one into another until she quite lost track of how long she'd been away from home. It could have been a week, it could have been two. It could have been an eternity. She slept on a dirt floor without a blanket; she ate the dregs of whatever was on the fire—if she was allowed to eat; she worked in the garden, in the pigsty, in the stable until her hands were cracked and bleeding and her bare feet were in like condition.
She prayed quite a bit, but never, as Fate would have it, in the comfort of the chapel.
Today, her task was to serve as a carrier of foodstuffs to various places in the abbey. Amanda suspected that the reason for that was that the ground was growing increasingly cold, her feet were growing increasingly bloody, and the abbess was tiring of beating her to make her obedient.
In truth, Amanda was growing tired of the latter as well.
She limped along the stone pathways, carrying something that smelled so good, it was all she could do not to rip off the lid and eat it without pausing for breath. But she knew where that would lead, so she concentrated on her feet and not the food, and kept on her way to the abbess's cell—which was more of a luxurious solar than a cell, but who was she to judge?
She paused at the doorway, only because the door was ajar and she wasn't sure what she was going to knock with, given that her hands were full of a wooden tray laden with the aforementioned delicacies.
