Chapter 11 #2
He looked at her, appalled. “Do you think I would let any of it go to waste? Fie, woman, what a terrible thought.” He offered her his arm. “I left my gallant steed at home so we’re reduced to my little runabout, but it will serve us well enough. Shall we go?”
She took his arm and had to admit she might not have minded if he’d hoisted a sword in her defense.
Her mother most definitely would have agreed.
She had hoped that along with the last vestiges of jetlag, she would have lost the urge to jam on the non-existent brakes on her side of the car, but sadly their brief journey to a store that boasted both clothing and food told her she had work still to do.
Not even the joy of possible new underwear mitigated the terror of having cars going the wrong way in very close quarters.
Sam seemed to think nothing of it, which was fine with her. What he thought of other things—namely the clothing he’d seen in her parents’ cottage—left her simply following him as he went up and down aisles, looking for the good stuff.
“Do you think it’s weird?” she asked finally.
She looked at him as he pored over what she’d seen from a distance was a very tempting selection of chocolate. He’d already reverently put into their cart enough to have given her ghostly dreams for a solid month, but apparently his work was not yet done.
“Do I think what’s weird?” he asked absently, frowning thoughtfully as he compared what he was holding in either hand.
“Do you think it’s weird to pretend to be medieval people?”
He caught the chocolate he dropped only because apparently he had very quick hands. He put both in the cart.
“Why would that be strange?”
“Because they’re modern, tenured university professors who own their home and have a great life, yet they have this alternate medieval universe going.” She looked at him. “Put simply.”
He looked at her with a faint smile. “And living in the Middle Ages wouldn’t be just as lovely for them?”
“No TV, chocolate, or toilet paper,” she said without hesitation.
“But hot fires, live entertainment, and an endless view of stars dotting the sky without light pollution.”
“Also ninja-level knights masquerading as monks solving grisly murders in chilly catacombs after they’ve had strange things happen to them near standing stones and fairy rings,” she countered. “That doesn’t sound all that relaxing, does it?”
He smiled more truly that time. “You, Mistress Brewster, have read too many of my brother’s books.”
She couldn’t argue with that, so she didn’t try. She watched him turn back to his array of what she sincerely hoped were after-dinner indulgences and not the main course, then followed after him as he continued to stock up.
She knew exactly what her bank account held, though, which was why she continued to put things back. He finally caught her at it, reselected what she’d deleted from their cart, then shot her a look.
“I’m paying.”
She shook her head. “This is for my parents.”
“But ‘tis my pleasure to see to them along with seeing to us,” he countered. “Don’t leave my mother with any reasons to take a switch to my backside for failing to act like a gentleman.”
“My father does that,” she said. “Plays the chivalry card with my mother, that is.”
“Perhaps ‘tis why they dress up as medieval nobility.”
“When he’s not sitting in his office that looks like something out of a Jane Austen movie, complaining about taxes and knocking back whisky?”
“If you tell me he has powder-blue short trousers, I will be letting you purchase my chocolate.”
She smiled. “He doesn’t, thankfully, but he doesn’t quite have your figure.”
“I think that was a compliment.” He nodded toward the front of the store. “Let’s pay for these delights, then we’ll make a brief foray into the clothing merchant’s area. You can see if you can find a jumper for me that can possibly improve the glory of my crown.”
She would have snorted at him, but he’d offered her his arm and inclined his head in a formal little bit of business.
She knew she was blushing, but apparently she was in good company.
She watched two grannies be the recipients of a polite greeting from her escort, then color discreetly exactly as she was doing.
“Look at those pretty manners,” one of them whispered to the other.
“He’s a keeper, he is. Hope she’s wise enough to see that.”
Harriet decided the very last thing she needed to see was Sam’s face after that comment, but apparently she was a glutton for punishment because she couldn’t resist a quick look at him. He only shrugged and smiled.
“Granny always knows best.”
“Pfft,” she said, deciding on the spot to find the nearest bookstore and look for a collection of Shakespearean comebacks to have at the ready.
He smiled again and nodded toward the tills. “Let’s be off before anyone else offers you more pieces of excellent advice.”
She rolled her eyes because she knew he expected her to, but she couldn’t help but indulge in the very briefest of wishes that she dared take that sage advice.
Or that Sam would give her a reason to.
By the time she managed to push him out of the accompanying clothing store, she was the proud owner of a discreet collection of new underwear, nice pants, and a couple of shirts.
Well, and a brush. If Sam had allowed her to put all her things on the counter, then covered the lot with his powder-blue cardigan and a dress shirt, then handed the salesman his credit card, well, she hadn’t been willing to brawl with him right there in the store.
“I’ll pay you back.”
“You won’t,” he said, putting everything in the trunk of his car to join their groceries.
“Keys?” she asked.
He held them up in one hand, shut the lid with the other, then looked at her. “Chivalric privilege.”
She was still missing her list of pithy retorts, so she could do nothing but feel properly championed as Sam tucked her into his car and subsequently got them on the road.
She had to admit, however reluctantly, that she was beginning to understand why her mother went along with all that LARPing business.
She could perhaps even go so far as to say she could understand why her mother might even have encouraged a bit of it.
It was her parents, after all, and definitely still cringe-worthy, but the thought of her father being willing to step in front of her mother and keep all and sundry enemies at bay?
That was definitely something.
“Do you think it was peaceful?” she asked as they waited in line to take a little spin around a roundabout. “Medieval times?”
“Well, instead of traffic you had battles with sharp swords and steely eyed enemies,” he said thoughtfully, “so perhaps not. That, and you still had to feed and water your horse who didn’t travel nearly as quickly as even a modest little car.”
She smiled. “Now you’re the one who’s been reading too many of your brother’s books.”
He lifted his eyebrows briefly, swore as he had to brake to avoid someone cutting in front of him, then he smiled at her.
“Sorry,” he said. “Tourists.”
“I’m glad you’re driving,” she said honestly. “I almost had a stroke on the way here from the airport and I wasn’t the one driving.”
“I’ll give you lessons,” he said easily. “How long are you here for?”
“A month,” she said. It had seemed like plenty of time when she’d watched her mother book her tickets, but she was starting to think it might not be long enough after all.
“You could stay longer,” he said, then he shot her a look. “Book research, of course.”
“You might need protection at your theater.”
“Thinking of hoisting a sword in my defense, Titania?”
“Or stealing your lead actress’s picket sign and taking over her role.”
“Given that I think she’d like to push me into the Avon and hold me under for a goodly while, I’m all for that.” He smiled. “We’re considering a larger flat, actually. Room for guests and all that.”
She smiled politely, because that sounded great for him and his brother. She was certain they would have plenty of people who wanted to come stay.
“I forgot to look for a map,” he said, frowning thoughtfully, “but I think I can find a pair of places for you to observe from a distance. We’ll pop in a shop tomorrow and find a tour guide for a longer list of things you might want to see just for yourself down the road. Interested?”
She nodded because she didn’t want to believe he wasn’t serious and wasn’t quite sure how to react if he was.
So many things that hadn’t been on her list.
Four hours, a glimpse of two castles, one avoided ghost tour, and a very lovely pub meal later, she found herself being dropped off with new clothes and a decent supply of chocolate in front of her new lodgings.
She’d hardly begun to decide whether or not a friendly handshake was in order before the door was pulled open and Francine Collins stood there, eyeing Sam with a calculation that should have made him nervous.
“I know who you are.”
Sam put his hand over his heart and inclined his head. “I am your servant, my lady.”
“Distraction will not work with me, my boy, for I am also well aware of who you are not. What I want to know where he is so I can find him and do him in.”
“Don’t jump the queue,” Sam said grimly. “And are you certain about this?”
“Of course I recognize you, Samuel McKinnon.”
Harriet looked at Sam who sighed. He made Francine a low bow.
“Guilty as charged, my lady.” He smiled sheepishly. “And here I thought I was doing such a smashing job of impersonating my less intelligent though marginally personable sibling. You have a very keen eye to distinguish between us.”
“Don’t try any of that charm on me,” Francine said, patting her hair. “You have much to answer for as does your brother. I will say, however, that I saw your Benedict last year and it didn’t disappoint.”
“High praise,” Harriet managed.
Sam shot her a smile, then made his brother’s agent another brief bow. “I’m overwhelmed.”