Chapter 12 #3
Maryanne laughed a little, then pulled away. Her smile faded to something a bit more wistful. “I assumed ‘twas something akin to this. I should have sent you a message instead of waiting you out.”
“We’ll come now,” he promised.
“I’ll keep Jackson at bay.”
“I would appreciate that.”
She smiled. “They had a little parley recently at Wyckham, you know, Jackson and Oliver Phillips and Derrick Cameron.”
“Please don’t tell me the details.”
“Their ladies came along, too,” she continued without any pity at all. “I did my best to remind all of them how much I love you and Theo, but I’m not sure it helped.”
“Don’t think I’m not grateful for the effort,” Sam said sourly.
She smiled and reached up to ruffle his hair. “How old are you this year?”
“Is that what you really want to know?”
She shook her head. “Scores of other things, really, but that seems the easiest. Then I’ll know if I can scold you freely or feel slightly saucy about attempting it.”
“I turned a score-and-eleven two month ago,” he said. “But let’s move on to more critical things: What have you done to my bedchamber at home and how fare the innards of your larder?”
Maryanne smiled. “We turned it into a library, but you’re welcome to come have an opinion on the decor. As for the other, I’ve been laying aside all manner of snacks, just for you.”
He smiled. “I will, then. We will. And thank you.”
“Bring your lady.”
He took a deep breath, then nodded. “If she’s still here, I’ll do that as well.”
Mary only looked at him with sympathy, then turned her attentions to her daughter. Sam was happy to aid her in that for the simple fact that it left him not having to think about things that bothered him.
Such as the passage of time he couldn’t seem to stop.
Fortunately for him, he supposed, the rest of the day passed quite pleasantly with at least a pair of successes.
He found Harriet a decent mobile phone, put his number in without hesitation before he handed it to her, and he managed to ignore the details that were being offered during an after-dinner lecture on weapons through the ages given by a lad from Chevington who he did indeed recognize but managed to greet with naught but a wave from across the room.
He sent Harriet off to rest with Mistress Collins, then retreated to his own bedchamber where he could check his phone for messages in private. Not finding anything from Callum was a relief. Not seeing anything from his brother was something quite different.
Just where the hell had Theo gotten himself off to?
He considered, texted Zachary the time and place for Theo’s encounter with Penitence Chase, then decided there was nothing else to be done there.
He didn’t like feeling torn in two, but the need to stay in Bradford-Next-the-Stow and preserve Theo’s reputation was warring mightily with the urge to follow his brother back to the past and possibly execute a timely rescue.
He couldn’t imagine the lad trailing after him having had anything to do with events in the past, but he’d been wrong before.
What he was sure of was that Harriet needed to stay safely inside the inn and he needed to take a little walk around the village and see if finding the door of her parents’ cottage open had been random or purposeful.
He pushed himself to his feet, put on his jacket, then locked up his chamber behind him and walked down the passageway. He made himself comfortable in the shadows of a niche, then sent Harriet a message.
Safely tucked in, my lady?
Knitting by fire.
He smiled briefly. Behave.
Be careful.
He considered, then sent her one more message.
Meet me briefly in the passageway?
It helped, he supposed, that he was standing ten feet from her door that opened almost immediately. He was not at all surprised to find she was still dressed, though that likely should have alarmed him. He fetched her, then pulled her across the passageway and into the spot he’d just vacated.
And then, poor fool that he was, he opened his arms and looked at her inquiringly. Her expression was inscrutable.
“Do comrades-in-arms hug?” she asked.
He considered. “In moments of possible peril, perhaps. In those same sorts of moments, friends absolutely do.”
She took a deep breath, then walked into his embrace.
He closed his eyes, rested his cheek against her hair and sighed.
She was not at all what he’d anticipated finding at a writer’s conference he hadn’t planned to be at in the first place, never mind the wildly improbable odds of choosing to hide behind the same bloody ficus tree at that same conference.
His common sense shouted that he absolutely couldn’t ask her to stay and become a part of the madness that was his life.
He was always trotting off to the next thing, worrying about being discovered for not only what he was but what he might not be whilst about the pinboard business, wondering how to have any sort of ordinary, measured existence where one day flowed seamlessly and gloriously into the next without some time-related crisis sending him back out the door.
Never mind what she might do when she found out when he’d been born, which was perhaps the most ridiculous thing of all to have any regrets over.
Not only was he a medieval lord’s upstanding son, he was a bloody knight of the realm with spurs on his heels and his heart full of noble ideals.
Any number of gels in any number of centuries surely wouldn’t have found him completely objectionable.
If he played his cards right, he might even manage to extort a very expensive automobile out of his brother as repayment for the past few days and then his incarnation as a desirable modern man of means would be complete.
But somehow, he suspected the delicate, tender, truly lovely faery in his arms wouldn’t give a damn about any of it.
Not that he dared ask her opinion, for obvious reasons and no matter how bloody broody seeing his cousin and her husband had left him feeling.
“You’re swearing.”
“I’m not,” he said, dragging himself back to the present moment. “I’m thinking deep, profound thoughts. They just sound better in French.”
She laughed very briefly, but didn’t release him. “I’m going to start a list of your swear words and then you won’t be able to lie like that any longer.”
He smiled, pulled back far enough to look at her, elfin creature that she was with her glorious hair, hesitant smile, and beautiful eyes, and thought that he might have been presented with the chance to win the one woman in the world who could not only keep up with his insane desire to turn over every rock in his path, but perhaps leave him trailing after her, begging her to be sensible and slow down.
He took her face in his hands, then pressed his lips against her forehead. “Be good.”
“I always am.”
“By that I mean go put yourself safely in the loving talons of your guardian dragon and stay there. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She eyed him speculatively. “You aren’t going off to make trouble, are you?”
“Moi?” he said, releasing her and putting his hand over his heart. “You wound me, Mistress Brewster. I’ll be safely behind some tree or other, preparing for whatever madness we stand to suffer through tomorrow.”
“I believe it’s mostly just preparation for the murder mystery dinner tomorrow night.”
“All the more reason to have an early night now,” he said, turning her around and putting his hands on her shoulders. “Walk on, gel. I want to see you safely put into your bedchamber.”
She did, which almost surprised him, then she paused with her hand on the doorknob and looked over her shoulder at him. “Be good,” she said quietly.
“I always am,” he said, just as quietly. He nodded toward her door. “Keep Mistress Collins distracted, would you? She frightens me.”
Harriet smiled, nodded, then slipped inside the room.
Sam waited for a moment or two just to make certain she wouldn’t be nipping back out into the passageway to follow him, then he turned and quickly made his way down to the front doors.
He saw nothing inside the inn and a quick glance up and down the street revealed nothing untoward cluttering up the pavement.
He didn’t hold out much hope that the emptiness would last, but he would face things as they came.
He couldn’t help but wish he had his sword at his side.
He sighed, consigned all his medieval impulses to their proper place on the cosmic timeline, and walked into the darkness.