“There were a few things, Sir Ayjay, and we retrieved them for you,” she replied, avoiding coming in contact with him. Conan clearly itched to make some contact of his own. “There was not much, I am afraid.”
Her blue gaze guided A.J.’s to a corner of the room where his golf bag was propped against the wall with not a scratch on its vinyl surface. Well, that had been a good investment. At ten grand, he’d always seen his golf set as investment instead of an expense. Expenses came with price tags with a few zeros. But ten thousand dollars worth of something was more than a purchase. A.J. shook his head. Two men might be dead right now, he might possibly be the only survivor of a plane crash but a golf bag had made it without a mark…? Life was like that sometimes. Hopelessly bitchy.
Beside the golf bag was a chair on which had been set a few items, some he could recognize right away. His watch was there, along with his MP3 player and something with foil sticking out the side.
Boss Lady said something to Conan, who glared at A.J. before taking his leave, his equally fierce-looking colleague with him. Bonnet Girl stood, exchanged a few words with her boss then left as well.
Alone with the blonde, A.J. could finally get some peace and quiet to think about what had happened.
“You may address me as Lady Marion,” she began, her gaze once again going down the length of him.
Hey. She was checking him out!
So he checked her out too. Equal opportunity, right?
“Lady Marion” stood about five two, five three, with long pale blonde hair coiled in a thick braid hooked over a shoulder. A royal blue dress that couldn’t begin to hide all those lovely curves fell to the floor, with slits at the shoulders creating a contrast against the narrow white sleeves of the shirt she wore underneath. A gold-threaded wool belt where hung a ring of keys fit for a museum cinched her strong waist and dangled to the ground. Just his luck to have landed—literally—in the middle of a medieval fair.
“I want to see that lake. Now would be a good time.”
She shook her head. “You were injured. You cannot ride a horse yet.”
A.J. took a step forward, knowing he was invading her “Lady Zone” and not giving a shit. He was the victim, dammit, and was going to get straight answers and get them right now!
She narrowed her blue eyes as him, as though trying to decide if she should scream for Conan to come help, knee A.J. in the balls or just stay rooted to the spot and keep on staring. She must have chosen the latter because she put her fists on her hips and gave him one of the most potent Stares of Approaching Female Anger he’d ever been graced with. And he’d tasted several kinds in his line of work. Not many people abided with lawyers to begin with, but those like him, everyone despised.
“I’m the one with his face split open, so I get to stare, okay?”
She snorted. “Your face is hardly split open. It is merely a cut. But I should have known from your hands.”
“Known what? What’s wrong with my hands? They’re perfectly good, functional hands and I’ve just had them done, my hands, which I can’t say the same about you. I’ve seen teenage boys with cleaner fingernails.”
He actually heard her teeth grinding.
“How dare you insult me in my own home?” she snarled.
Stare of Eradication and Looming Painful Death. Plenty of them. Accusing finger-pointing right into his chest too. The woman had nerves of steel. A.J. looked down at it, gave his trademark Shark smile before shaking his head. “That was a mistake. You don’t get to poke me in the chest, I don’t care how cute you are.”
“Oh? And what shall happen to me?”
“Well,” he started, taking a step forward which forced Lady Marion to either be very, very close to him or yield and take a step back, which she did. Hurray for small victories. He was so shallow.
“It’s going to start with a thing called a subpoena then a little trip down to the courthouse, or whatever you call them over here, then it’s probably going to end with you in a hard little chair while I walk around and take a few strips off your lovely person. Who knows? It might end with an out-of-court settlement—which I rarely do, because I tend to win—or me burning a hole in my stomach with a lovely triple espresso while reading a newspaper where there’s a picture of you wearing numbered coveralls.”
She opened her mouth to speak, snapped it close, tried again.
“Yes, I know, I can be ruthless.” Feeling smug, A.J. adjusted the sheet around his waist.
“I have absolutely no idea what you just said to me,” Lady Marion breathed, shaking her head before bursting into mocking laughter.
It was his turn to try for a witty repartee, finding nothing that didn’t involve obscenities—he had his standards—and clamping his jaws together. She was laughing at him!
Deciding if he wanted to have the last word, and damn it if he did to, he’d have to shock her into silence. So A.J. let the sheet fall around his ankles, stepped out then crossed his arms. “Do you have a phone I could use?”
Complete silence followed his little stunt. But there was much staring and reddening. Lady Marion blushed sunburn red right up to the roots of her hair, stammered something before jumping back and slamming against the door. As much as he wanted to steady her, A.J. didn’t move a muscle and watched as she put a hand out and palmed blindly behind her for the lever. Yet as much as she looked shocked, a measure of admiration also shined in her pale eyes, which wasn’t helping his already inflated ego. He knew if he tried to walk out the door, the rest of him would be fine but his head would get stuck. He was many things but modest he was not.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
It was his turn to grin.
Damn he loved winning!
Chapter Two
The sight of a naked man had never unnerved Marion. She’d bandaged and stitched enough in her life to dull such excitement. But Sir Ayjay was different. He was a stranger, a handsome one at that, and looked at her in a way no man had in a long time, not as Lady Marion, Sargans’ châtelaine and four years widowed, but as a woman.
Although Hugo had claimed his man had found an unconscious Italian by the side of the lake, she doubted Sir Ayjay was one. The excitement the visitor had caused as Thorins and Hugo carried him inside the walls! Female oohs and ahhs of admiration had followed in their wake. She had to admit, she’d thought the dark-haired stranger quite stunning herself, despite the cut marring his eyebrow. But a look had sufficed…he was no Italian. He certainly possessed the sleek elegance, smooth black hair and sharp features of an Italian, but he towered over everyone else by a good head and had not spoken a word of Latin thus far. He had fine hands as well, clean and limber, with nails trimmed and polished, and possessed a fine bracelet of the palest silver she’d ever seen, even if the rest of the items they’d gathered from the lakeside were unfamiliar to her. Sir Ayjay was a wealthy lord in his own homeland no doubt and judging from his impeccable hands, one who hadn’t worked a day in his life. The man stood there as though being stark naked were nothing at all. The scandalous, foul-mouthed…argh!
Her maid Hannah’s claim she’d never seen such a finely sculpted and well-endowed man—which Marion could verily attest—only deepened Marion’s mental battle. She wanted to stare, yet at the same time, knew she couldn’t. It wasn’t proper. With much more difficulty than she ought to have experienced, she forced her gaze away from his chiseled body and settled on the tapestry on the far wall.
“Night shall fall soon,” she said through clenched teeth. By the corner of her eye, she could still see how light and shadow played on his firm and fit body. Good Lord, what was she doing! “I shall take you to the lake tomorrow.”
He seemed about to say something but lost his countenance and paled considerably. Sinking on the foot of the bed, he rubbed his temple and grimaced. Worry instantly flared through her chest and left her surprised by its intensity and suddenness. She knew nothing about him except he must have been a lord…albeit a blasphemous one. She rushed f
orward. “You should lie down.”
Sir Ayjay ignored her hand and began to stare at her while he rubbed his temple. “Just migraines, I’ll be fine. Where is this fair taking place?”
She had no idea what “my grains” had to do with his head but let it drop. He looked in so much pain. “A fair?”
“This,” he snapped, indicating her dress, the room and what lay beyond the pair of narrow windows. “This whole show. Where is it? Where have I landed?” He spoke through his teeth.
Guessing he meant the location of her castle, she nodded. “Castle Sargans sits in the canton of Santis, under Lord Matheus’ rule. We are in the third year of His Holiness Pope Blessed Eugene the Third.”
He only looked at her, his black gaze sliding down her face and neck, chest and waist, down her dress then back up to her eyes. Arousal stirred low in her belly. She mentally shook the impious images away.
“You’re the master of ceremonies here then?”
“I am the châtelaine here, Sir Ayjay. This is my castle and those are the people entrusted in me you have met. Hugo, the bearded one, and one of his men Thorins. Hannah is my personal maid. No one here shall hurt you as long as you are under my care.”
“Under your care, huh?”
The sudden, ardent glint in his eyes unsettled and titillated her.
“Where are the bathrooms?” he asked, looking around the room. He spotted his clothes neatly hung on the back of the chair and went for them.
She honestly tried not to sneak a peek at his backside but failed miserably. Long legs ended with a very tight bottom that made her palms tingle. Good Lord, woman, take a hold of yourself.
“Bathrooms?”
He pulled his white undertunic—as fine as she’d ever seen on a man—and snaked an arm in the tailored sleeve. “Please don’t tell me all you have are chamber pots. That would finish me off.”
How crude!
“My household may not be as fine as what you are used to, Sir Ayjay, but I assure you we have all the commodities necessary.”
“Good.”
Clutching her hands in front of her, she whirled on the spot so he could don his strange little stockings, gleaming black shoes and those odd garments Hannah and she had so exclaimed over. Such small and delicate buttons. And that silvery opening with the tiny hooks, how clever!
Quicker alone than both women together, Sir Ayjay tackled his clothes by himself and was dressed in an instant. Looking magnificent in his rich black hose and thin undertunic, he stood by her side. He left the matching black overtunic hanging on the chair but after retrieving his thick silver bracelet from the small pile of salvaged items, he snapped it to his left wrist. His hard chest—for she’d had the chance to touch it while she stitched his eyebrow—looked particularly enticing under the fine fabric of his undertunic, which he’d tucked inside his hose for added emphasis. Barely within the bounds of decency!
“Lady Marion?” he asked, his eyes narrowed as he looked down at her.
“Are you feeling well enough?” she asked in an attempt to cover her lack of modesty. To stare at a man this way.
“As good as can be expected, given I’ve crash-landed in the Alps, right in the middle of a medieval fair and without a phone for miles around.”
“We have treated you well so far.”
“I’m not saying you haven’t, Lady Marion, only I’m far from home, I have a killer migraine and something tells me it’s not the end of my adventure.”
A killer my grain?
“You speak French yet I cannot place your accent. Where are you from?”
“Canada. Oh but wait, you haven’t discovered us yet, right? So I guess I’m from France then.” His words dripped with sarcasm.
“I have never heard of either lands.”
“See? You haven’t discovered us yet. But it’s there, believe me.”
“Are you always so tart?”
He grinned a fake smile. It resembled a grimace. “You wait until I get caffeine-deprived.”
“And what do your people call you, back in your homeland? Is there a more appropriate title than sir?”
“Nothing I’d repeat in front of a lady. But mostly, I’m called a lawyer. Although I’m not even sure it’s fit to be said aloud either.”
“Lawyer? A Man of Law?”
He nodded. “And I’ve heard all the jokes too.”
She wasn’t sure what he’d just said so she opened the door and led him to the nearest privacy area reserved for men.
“Don’t tell me,” he said as they rounded a corner and walked down the narrow corridor leading to their destination. “We’re getting close. I can smell it.”
Such vile tongue for a man so obviously refined.
She pointed at the curtain to their left and took a few steps back, meaning to let him do his deed in peace but he poked his head inside, exclaimed in a language she couldn’t understand—a syllable that sounded like “fok” kept returning—before turning to her and shaking his head.
“You’ve got to be kidding me! It’s a hole in the floor!”
“It certainly is not. There is, er, a seat of some sort…and, yes, well, with a hole in the middle.”
“I want a real toilet, dammit, with porcelain and chrome and paper. I’m all for creating the medieval mood and everything, and I’ve got to say, your actors are damn good in their roles, but this is going too far. I’m not balancing my naked ass over a hole, waiting for—”
“Sir Ayjay! Please!”
He froze, took another look beyond the curtain and crossed his arms. “I am not using this one. Is there another? What about the ladies’ bathroom? You always have nicer ones than men.”
The idea a man would demand to use the ladies’ privacy area was so ludicrous, so outlandish, Marion had to hide her grin behind her hand and when failing to subdue her laughter, she turned away to preserve his pride.
“Oh this is funny to you, is it?” he demanded. He walked around her so he could stand in front, his long hands on his hips, his decadent mouth in a thin line.
She looked up to meet his gaze.
Marion had to put out a hand to steady her when her gaze met his. There hadn’t been any reason to lean against walls since her husband’s death as no man had elicited in her body such strong response. Sir Ayjay, with his ardent gaze, pleasing form and unusual ways raised the fine hairs on her arms. So much so Marion wasn’t sure if she’d ever felt this way at all.
His eyes narrowed, his chin lowered until he was leaning a shoulder against the wall. A subtle flicker of tongue glistened behind his parted lips. Heat spread to her chest and neck. She knew she was blushing again.
“Look,” he began, shrugged then set his dark gaze on her again. “We didn’t start out very well, you and I, and in my defense, I blame the concussion and loss of blood, but it’s still no excuse to act like the perfect asshole I can be. So how about we start over?”
Some of his words didn’t make much sense but she could understand an offer for truce when she was presented with one. “That would be agreeable.”
“So if you’ll take me to a phone, I’d like to report the plane crash and the two missing pilots.”
Fone? Plain crash? Pie lots?
Again words were lost, well, most of them, but she nodded anyway, unsure what else to do. He’d clearly received a hard knock on the head. “I shall try my utmost to provide you with what you need, Sir Ayjay.”
He peeled his lean frame from the wall and cocked his head. “What I need…”
Marion waited as he looked up at the ceiling, took a deep breath before gracing her with the most lascivious look a man had ever granted her. “I need a bathroom where I won’t have to stand to do my business, I need food and water…and whatever else you think I might need. I’m opened to suggestions.”
“I have no doubt you are, Sir Ayjay.” Why was she suddenly short of breath? The man was provoking her dark humors!
He took a quick peek at the dark, round disc on his bracelet. “
Do you think you could take me to the kitchen? I’m hungry enough to eat squid.”
She didn’t know what a “skweed” was but it didn’t sound appetizing.
“Of course, I shall have a meal sent to your chamber—”
“I hate to eat alone. Have you had lunch already?”
“Have I eaten?”
He nodded, his mouth curving up at the corner in a very charming fashion. She felt manipulated and didn’t really care all that much.
“Would you prefer me to join you, Sir Ayjay?”
Another nod, this one dislodged a lock of that silky black hair and brushed against his injured eyebrow. She fought against the impulse to tuck it back up.
“Follow me.”
Her back burned as she imagined his intent gaze on it. Did he appreciate what he saw, she wondered. They reached the bright and sunny kitchen where Cook was preparing one of her rich and tasty stews—one of the last batches before fall would force them to start being careful with the supplies. Sir Ayjay took a long sniff and grinned widely.
“Smells like heaven in here,” he remarked.
Cook spun around, wooden ladle in hand, and offered him a rare smile. “A man who knows his food, good sir, I’m glad to see.” She tucked a silver strand of hair behind her ear.
Had Marion not known her better, she would’ve thought the leathery old woman was blushing.
“I know good food when I smell it,” he replied.
Bustling around the kitchen, Cook sat both Sir Ayjay and Marion at one end of the long worktable and set mugs and a pitcher in front of them. Pewter bowls where large helpings of steamy, dark stew made Marion nod in gratitude. She was famished, truth be told, as she’d spent part of the night checking on her injured guest and the vats of dyed wool simmering in the annex. Hannah had replaced her after a while so she could get a few moments of sleep. Sargans’ prized wool, dyed and spun as nowhere else in the region, made all the difference in their coffers as the levies kept rising. Marion feared it would all become too much. She’d already lasted much longer than her husband’s family had predicted—or tolerated. An image of his cousin’s latest offer made the skin on her arms crawl.
Timely Defense Page 2
