Chapter 14
Fourteen
Sam stood on the porch of Harriet’s parents’ cottage and wondered how one went about the process of introducing oneself to the father of a woman he had apparently unnerved enough to cause her to take a step away from him, something that had never happened before in the entirety of his ridiculously over-complicated life.
He suspected it would have been less painful to have had Jackson shove a sword through his gut.
At least Harriet wasn’t burying a knife in his back, though he suspected that was only because she didn’t have one to hand.
He would see what he could do to make amends, but first things first and that was to present himself respectably to her parents and assure them he was just their daughter’s friend.
A good friend, with any luck, but he set that aside as something to work on later.
He put on his best smile as the door opened and a short, somewhat ample man stood there.
“Good evening, sir,” Sam said politely, accompanying his words with a slight bow.
The man frowned slightly. “Do we know each other?”
Sam listened to Harriet sigh, then shifted to make room for her to stand next to him on the stoop.
“Hi, Dad,” she said.
Sam found himself being sized up quickly before Harriet’s father smiled widely at her and pulled his daughter into a hug.
“My little snowdrop,” he said, sounding thoroughly pleased to see her. “I see you’ve survived your adventures so far. Did you stick to the plan?”
“Like glue, Dad.” She paused. “For the most part.”
“We were getting a little worried, sweetheart, because there’s nothing in your bedroom. Where are your things?”
“I accidentally left them in the trunk of Mitch’s car,” she said weakly. “They’re traveling the Highlands at the moment.”
“Fair enough,” Mr. Brewster said, nodding. He considered. “Who is your new friend here?”
“Lord Br—er, Mr. Brewster,” Sam said, making the man another, more committed bow, “if I might introduce myself, I am Samuel de Piaget. My brother is the author TD Piaget.”
“Is he indeed?” Harriet’s father said, looking surprised but not displeased. “Is he here, too? And how did you meet either of them, Harriet?”
“If you would allow me to explain,” Sam said quickly, reaching for his best self-effacing smile.
“My brother, Theophilus, was booked at a writer’s conference in your little village here, but a family emergency occurred that required his immediate presence.
Because we look so much alike, I agreed to take his place for a day or two until he could return. ”
“How alike, dear?”
Sam faced Harriet’s mother who had come to join the party and saw immediately where Harriet had gotten not only her gorgeous hair but her lovely visage. He made her a low bow as well. “My lady,” he said politely, “we are dastardly twins.”
Harriet’s mother laughed delightedly and the pair welcomed him into the house. He made a grab for Harriet’s hand on the way in, but she had wrapped her arms around herself which left him missing her by quite a margin. He shot her a look, but she was only watching him uneasily.
He was going to kill Jackson Kilchurn first. Then Theo.
Then, if he were feeling particularly perky, he might do a little damage to Oliver Phillips.
In fact, he suspected two of those lads who were not his brother were still loitering uselessly about in some darkened alleyway nearby, so he could at least tick the boxes next to their names very soon.
That might take up the rest of his evening quite nicely and rid him of some of his excess ire.
“And how did you meet our Harriet?” Mr. Brewster asked.
Sam dragged himself back to the present moment and smiled.
“That, Mr. Brewster, is a tale worthy of any of my brother’s books.
We met by chance in the street, realized our mutual fondness for my brother’s work, then she graciously agreed to take on the role of my assistant for the conference.
We’ve been bamboozling writers and agents for the past pair of days with a level of skill Sir Laurence himself might have admired. ”
Mrs. Brewster looked at him placidly. “I hate to think about what that group might do to you if they discover the subterfuge.”
“You’re absolutely correct, my lady,” Sam agreed. “A dangerous lot, those mystery writers.”
Mr. Brewster smiled. “You have family nearby, son?”
Sam suppressed the urge to shift. “My parents are up north, but, yes, I have cousins close by.”
“Well, you’re safe here for the moment at least,” Mr. Brewster said. “Come in, children, and let’s gather by the hearth and get warm. Big days ahead, yes?”
Sam had to agree there definitely would be, though that didn’t begin to address the fact that he’d never been trying to impress a faery’s father before whilst simultaneously trying not to have his head catch on fire from the glares that same elfin creature was sending him.
He sent her a brief smile, had a troubled look in return, and hoped that he would manage to have speech with her before her father threw him out.
At least they were simply friends and not anything more serious that might cause Mr. Brewster to look on him with a steely glint in his eye. Simple, uncomplicated, undemanding friends.
It was odd how he continued to feel the need to remind himself of that.
Two hours later, he found himself banking the fire in the great room, then walking over to the front door.
He’d been invited to make use of the sofa for the night, which likely should have surprised him yet didn’t.
His father offered many hospitality, though a keep full of brutally efficient warriors tended to keep overnight guests from acting up.
He was trustworthy, though, and supposed he might make a decent guardsman in a pinch.
Which was why it behooved him to take a look around the outside of the house and make certain all was as it should have been, surely.
He pulled a house key off a hook in the kitchen, then let himself silently out the front door.
He could have picked the lock, true, but he was honestly too weary to do so.
He walked around the cottage as if he were simply off to do a bit of reconnaissance, which he was.
He did check flowerbeds for undue trampling and made note of which lights were still on inside, then decided there was no harm in attending to the true business of the evening.
He crossed the tidy little greensward that was their back garden, then made quick work of heaving himself over the back fence and onto the footpath there.
He wasn’t at all surprised to find two men waiting for him, one fair-haired, the other dark and, so it was rumored, possessing the most beautiful set of aqua eyes in existence.
He paused in front of his cousin and his apparent henchman and folded his arms over his chest. No time like the present to finish up a discussion he hadn’t been able to have earlier.
“You had to do that?” he asked. “With her watching?”
Jackson Kilchurn had assumed a similar pose, but Sam was unintimidated.
He conceded that he was marginally alarmed by Oliver Phillips still lingering in the area like a terrifying specter, but the man had kept Harriet safe so he would live to see another day.
Sam turned his attentions back to his cousin who quite possibly might not.
“I had things to repay you for,” Jackson said with a shrug. “I’m not sure I was quite finished, if you want the entire truth.”
“Are we going to brawl on the footpath to the church,” Sam asked shortly, “or would you care to take our swords to the village green where everyone can watch?”
Jackson smiled briefly. “Too much hopping across the centuries has soured your humors. Then again, given your callow, uninformed youth—”
Sam shoved his cousin because apparently he’d become a lad of ten-and-six once again without any guard on either his tongue or his fists.
He supposed he might have been better served to have reached into the recesses of his memory for several choice encounters with that same cousin during that same period of his life when Jackson had, as the saying went, completely kicked his arse.
But not at the moment. He was no longer a green lad scarce out of short trousers.
Unfortunately, he was also no longer able to carry on an intelligent conversation inside his poor head.
His cousin was, as anyone who knew him would have freely admitted, terrifying when he was about the goodly work of meting out revenge.
Half an hour later—or it could have been a pair of hours, who knew?
—Sam lay on his back in a pile of uncomfortable garden leavings, carefully checking his teeth to make certain he still had all of them and wondering if his eye might ever fully close again without help.
Perhaps it would close without aid and at least spare him the sight of Harriet looking at him as if he’d gathered up all the dangerous items on her yet-to-be-remade list of perils and set them around himself just to terrify her.
He sat up in time to watch Jackson crawl to his feet, stretching out his side with a curse as he did so. His cousin patted himself, apparently searching for more damage, then shrugged and held down his hand.
“Not completely incompetent, are you?”
Sam stared at his cousin’s hand, then at him. “After that, you expect me to trust you?”
Jackson rolled his eyes, then reached out and hauled Sam to his feet.
“That was just repayment for all the paranormal vexations I’ve endured thanks to marrying Fulbert de Piaget and Fiona MacLeod.
They’ve both paid me rather unsettling visits to complain about my lack of credentials, if you’re curious. ”
“I wasn’t,” Sam said evenly, “and not only did we see to a proper wedding for them, we rescued you, if you’ll stretch your ancient wits to remember all the details.”
“After you sent me there in the first place!”