Chapter 11
Eleven
Harriet stood next to Sam and stole a look at him to see how he was handling the sight of all that medieval finery.
He didn’t look overly traumatized, but he was accustomed to dressing up in costumes and acting in ways he perhaps wouldn’t have normally.
A man didn’t have a steady job in a theater troupe without having done his fair share of putting on tights and a tunic and marching around with a sword in his hand.
Then again, he’d probably never walked in on his parents dressed in head-to-toe medieval togs and shouting about dragons to be slain and maidens fair to be won, so there might yet be cause for concern.
At the moment, though, he was merely watching her with an expression that suggested that he might be coming to a few conclusions. She couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not, but at least he was simply stroking his chin thoughtfully instead of jumping out the nearest window.
“I should probably add,” she said gingerly, “that my father’s specialty is medieval England.”
He closed his eyes briefly. “Of course. And your mother?”
“She’s a botanical historian, though medieval flora isn’t her specialty. I actually think she would rather resurrect plants from the Jurassic period and see what comes of it.”
“I believe someone already made a film about that,” he said weakly. “Save her the trouble of experimenting on her own, what?”
Harriet nodded. “I’ve thought about discussing that with her, but I’m afraid she’ll tell me exactly what she’s growing in the back yard which would be worse than not knowing.”
“Understandable.”
She decided abruptly that if he was going to be using those sorts of words about potentially dangerous plants, maybe she could just get everything out on the table to start with. She took a deep breath and jumped in the deep end with both feet.
“There’s more,” she said.
He froze. “More than dodgy plants?”
She shook her head and gestured casually toward all that medieval gear on the floor. “More about why we’re looking at that.”
“Am I going to want to be sitting down for these tidings?”
“You might. I can only assume since their things are here and they’re going to be here as well that they’re planning to attend some sort of medieval faire in the area.”
He shut his mouth that had been hanging open. “A medieval fair,” he repeated faintly. “Really.”
“It’s weird, right?” she managed. She attempted a careless laugh, but knew she sounded like a chicken choking on an oversized piece of grain.
She cleared her throat and tried again. “I mean, pretending to be a medieval lord and lady and going around waving swords and shouting about slaying things. Who does that?”
“Who, indeed?”
“It is fairly romantic, I suppose,” she allowed. “I’m sure the reality was cold, dangerous, and sadly missing things like chocolate and fuzzy pajamas, but the ideals are pretty great.”
He tilted his head a bit as he looked at her. “The ideals?”
“Well, you know,” she said, gesturing to the Area of Clothing Peril.
“A man marching off into the sunrise to win a tournament in honor of his lady fair, or going off into gloomier weather to slay dragons or defeat enemies. I realize it’s my parents doing it which makes me a little queasy, but my father is terribly romantic and my mother seems to like it. ”
“There is something to be said for chivalry,” he agreed.
“Have you ever rescued a maiden fair?”
He smiled, as if he found that somewhat amusing. “I once played Ophelia when our lead actress started puking backstage five minutes before curtain. Does that count?”
“It might. How’d it go?”
“Her gown was just slightly longer than my blue silken short trousers, so the costuming definitely needed work.” He paused. “I’m not sure we didn’t have several people walk out after the first act, but I did my best.”
“That definitely counts,” she said with a smile. “Very chivalrous.”
He smiled. “I try.” He glanced at her parents’ clothing then back at her. “Let’s put their gear back where it was, then decide what to do with the rest of our day. Do we know what’s on the schedule?”
“Some sort of lecture about characters,” she said, mentally checking the list she’d memorized, “then a ghost walk tonight for the more adventurous.”
He muttered something under his breath that sounded like it came from a romance language but with an accent she couldn’t place. Mystery or simply the quirks of an adorably gorgeous Englishman with a lovely accent and an equally lovely smile? Hard to say.
“Was that French?” she asked, because that seemed as good a place to start as any.
“Yes, sorry,” he said with a smile. “Do you know any?”
“Three years in school,” she said, “but I didn’t pay very much attention to it. My Latin is much better, but there isn’t much call for it except when my sister the lawyer is trotting hers out to intimidate us at Thanksgiving dinner.”
Sam smiled briefly. “I have something of the same problem. Reciting obscure declensions keeps me awake in chapel, but it’s likely not all that useful in the current day, is it?”
She stopped herself just before she asked about his family only because she realized that might lead to asking about his brother who had still not returned from wherever he’d gone.
She was beginning to suspect that his continued absence might be slightly more alarming than Sam wanted to admit.
She took a deep breath and put on a bright smile.
“You’d better go on that ghost thing,” she said. “Your adoring fans will miss you if you aren’t there. Who knows, you might even see some of the usual suspects.”
He looked at her with absolutely no expression on his face. She tried to match his look, but couldn’t manage it for long. He laughed a little.
“I’m assuming you’re speaking of specters and not women with high heels and terrifying plans and why is it you think you won’t be coming along to keep me safe?”
“Am I?” she asked lightly.
“I think ‘twould be the chivalrous thing to do.”
She couldn’t help a better smile then. “All right. If nothing else, I suppose we could see which of your ghosts turns up. That might be entertaining.”
“What would be more entertaining would be a football match on telly and some delicious snacks. Let’s find a grocery store and see what can be done about that second part at least. If we dawdle, we might manage to miss the evening’s events entirely.”
“I’ve seen enough paranormal stuff in the past two days to last me for a while,” she said promptly. “Actually, now that I think about it, it might have been longer than that.”
“Do I dare ask?”
“Well, when I was trying to make the decision to come over here, I woke up one night to the sound of singing.”
“Your parents trying out a few madrigals?”
She smiled briefly. “Not exactly. I heard the singing—and it was actually rather good—and snuck back to my mother’s office.
” She had to take a deep breath at that point.
“I saw a pair of men in kilts, poking at my great-grandmother’s upright piano with the hilts of knives they’d pulled from their boots. ”
The suitcase Sam had been holding fell over. She supposed that might have been because he’d let go of it, but she was honestly not sure.
“That’s when it gets really weird,” she said. “I think I actually volunteered my services as accompanist just to get them to stop fighting over harmonies. That and I thought all those piano lessons my mother forced me to take shouldn’t go to waste.”
“What did they do then?” he asked weakly.
“They vanished in a flurry of choral music and tartan fabric. It’s entirely possible I dreamed the entire thing, but if that’s true, I might need to give up hot cocoa before bedtime.”
He started to speak a time or two, then finally shook his head and finished the job of tipping over the trunk so medieval finery could more easily be folded up inside.
She couldn’t have agreed more, so she helped him fold and repack and was extremely happy when she listened to the satisfying sound of the lock clicking shut.
“I probably should find a store and get a few things for the fridge,” she said. “I also promised to locate a castle or two in the area that they might want to visit, but I might not manage that today.”
“Or we might.” He put both trunks to the side of the hearth, then looked at her. “Food first, then we’ll see what we can find before everything shuts up tight for the evening.”
“Do you know anything about castles?” She didn’t want to embarrass him, but her parents had bought her plane ticket so she felt like she owed them some thorough research.
“I’ve been to one or two,” he said with a smile. “We’ll decide on a trio of them and at least drive by if we’ve missed the last entry. Not to worry.”
She nodded, then went along behind him to make certain everything was locked up tight. She had to admit it was a bit odd to realize that she was perfectly happy to wander along after him and check his work while at the same time not doubting for a minute that he’d done it perfectly.
There was something to be said for a man who took his chivalric duty seriously.
She checked the door once he’d pulled it shut behind them out of habit, then looked at him.
“I can run to the store,” she ventured.
“Without me? Surely not. I need chocolate.” He smiled. “I believe they keep it behind the dragon kibble.”
She scowled at him, but that only made him smile that smile that left her wondering why she hadn’t been blown over from the gusts left behind by every female in Bradford-Next-the-Stow swooning in unison. He made her a slight bow.
“Let’s go, Mistress Snowdrop,” he said. “We’ll acquire a few tasty snacks, then find some sort of tourist guide full of famous local sights that can’t be missed.”
“A guide book subsequently to be stained with chocolate fingerprints, no doubt.”