Chapter 22
Twenty-two
Sam wiped the water out of his eyes and crawled out of the wooden tub without wishing for a single moment that he’d been in his delightful never-ending shower in London.
He felt a towel of sorts be shoved into his hands, then managed to dry enough of his face to thank whomever had done the honors.
He was somehow unsurprised to find it was his elder brother though Connor was less elder than he had been a decade ago.
Sam was very grateful that they were currently both old enough that the difference in ages wasn’t as startling to the keep’s inhabitants as it might have been otherwise.
Then again, his father tended to keep servants and warriors close to him who guarded the family’s privacy ferociously and ignored any paranormal oddities they were privy to, so perhaps he worried unnecessarily. That he worried over that sort of thing in the first place was absolutely mental.
He was starting to think he needed to get control of his life before it simply up and ran away with him.
“A trip to the lists?” Connor asked politely.
Sam dried the rest of himself off next to the fire in the kitchens, put on clean clothes no doubt provided by his sainted mother, then accepted a bowl of something that smelled divine. He wolfed half of it down before he looked at his brother.
“Are you daft?” he said with a snort. “I have things to do. And you’d best have taken good care of the thing that’s first on my list.”
Connor leaned back against the wall, looking perfectly at ease. “I took excellent care of her. You’re welcome.”
Sam nodded shortly, because he was still trying to come to grips with the fact that not only was he back home, he’d brought a woman he continually had to remind himself was just a friend back home with him.
Oh, and her parents were there as well, more particularly her father who likely had strong opinions on his daughter’s dating choices.
He didn’t want to speculate on what sort of gauntlet Harriet’s mother might put any potential suitor through.
On the other hand, his father had certainly set the proper tone for any future parleys with Harriet’s parents.
Nicholas had managed, in his remarkably good modern English, to soothe the pair so they hadn’t lost their composure when they’d realized they weren’t where they thought they were, though Harriet’s parents were indeed made of stern stuff.
The ensuing three days of gentle travel had given him many opportunities to make certain they felt safe.
He thought her mother liked him, which might have been a boon had he had more than just unremarkable, friendly feelings for their daughter.
After all, he hadn’t been affected by seeing her an hour ago, nay, not a single bit. He’d caught her hand on his way to the kitchens out of a comradely sense of wanting her to be comfortable, nothing more.
He finished his stew, then set his bowl on a table and dragged his hands through his hair. He realized Connor was still standing there, watching him more closely than he was happy about, but he gave his brother the smile he deserved just the same.
“Thank you.”
“She’s perfect.”
“And won’t be at all interested in you, so go away.”
Connor folded his arms over his chest. “And you think she’ll be interested in you?”
Sam patted himself for his sword and realized it was halfway across the kitchen whilst Connor’s was attached to his hip.
He could rid his brother of his sword and use it on him, of course, but that might upset Cook and he had high hopes for supper that evening.
Best not to start a brawl right there by the stewpot.
“Did she not talk about me?” he asked.
“She dozed most of the way here,” Connor said mildly. “Recovering from too much time with you, no doubt.”
“You remember, don’t you, that I have provided you with matchless intelligence and the most delicious gossip possible for the better part of my life,” Sam reminded him. “I am unsure why, in light of that, you’re heaping all this abuse on my undeserving head.”
“I’m endeavoring to keep you humble.” Connor frowned thoughtfully, then shrugged. “Not much can be done with you at this late date, so I suppose you’ll have to go present yourself as is.”
Sam favored his brother with a suggestion about where he might go—a rather warm locale—and what he might do when there—something he absolutely wouldn’t repeat in front of his mother—and left his brother snorting out a laugh behind him as he went to fetch his sword.
He managed to get himself through the passageway that led from the kitchens to the hall before he realized that he’d simply stopped without quite knowing how that had come about.
He looked at the souls gathered there in the great hall, that stunning piece of medieval architecture his father had rebuilt so that his mother would have something beautiful to look at and a place to play her violin that was almost worthy of her, and found himself sighing at the lovely feeling of being home in a spot that was thoroughly overrun with the family he loved.
He didn’t see Harriet’s parents, but they were no doubt off being shown every possible courtesy to restore them from a trying journey north.
But standing there in front of the fire, looking as peaceful and lovely as a gel could whilst in a time not her own, was the woman he was most interested in.
She was watching his family with a slight smile on her face, as if they pleased her somehow.
Children were frolicking around her like sweet foresty sprites, his sisters were peppering her with conversation he was fairly certain she only caught a part of, and his mother said something that made her smile happily before she resumed a more serious expression.
She continued to scan the great hall, as if she looked for something she hadn’t yet found.
And then she caught sight of him.
She became very still for a moment or two, and then she smiled. It was a hesitant, careful smile that was somehow still full of a sweet relief.
And he knew.
He would have leaned abruptly against something sturdy, but all he had was his brother’s hand suddenly grasping him by the shoulder and keeping him on his feet. He nodded his thanks, but that was all he could do as the truth of his situation presented itself to him with perfect clarity.
He didn’t want to take Harriet Delphinium Brewster out for a single dinner date. He didn’t want to take her out for even a pair of dinner dates. He definitely didn’t want to put her on a plane back to that vast middle section of the Colonies where he might never find her again.
He didn’t want that at all.
What he wanted to do was take her out to the chapel and make her a list of reasons why she would absolutely want to date him for the rest of her life.
He wanted her smiles and her ridiculously curly hair that framed a face that faeries would have wept over.
He wanted her endless questions and the way she surveyed the field of battle before marching out onto it anyway.
He wanted to pull her into darkened corners and kiss her as many times a day as she would allow, in keeping with the grand and glorious tradition begun by his father.
He wanted that sweet, lovely, peaceful place she’d somehow carved out in his heart without his realizing it, and he wanted to find a way to give her the same in return.
He suspected he’d been on the road to his current spot from the moment he’d first clapped eyes on her, hiding behind that blessed ficus tree.
And now, watching her navigating what had to have been a gobsmackingly unbelievable situation with the same quiet composure she used with everything—her hands might have been twitching but he imagined that was from a need for pen and notebook—well, what could he do but take every last damn rule he’d made for himself and chuck them all out the back door onto the compost heap?
“I see my chances with her have flown out the window.”
Sam didn’t bother to look at his brother. “As if you had any to begin with.”
Connor slung an arm around his shoulders. “How did you get to be this old?”
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Sam grumbled.
“And to answer before you distract me from things I want to be heeding, it’s due to the gates and how time moves on either side of them.
We’ve sorted them into ones that keep to the proper time and ones that lead you on a merry dance that completes patterns that weren’t in your set. ”
“Pithy.”
Sam did look at him then. “My sword is sharp, too, just so you know.”
“I’m appropriately terrified,” Connor said dryly. “Now, how can I help you with a wooing that is far beyond your skill?”
Sam had to admit that Connor generally left every woman in his vicinity faint, but perhaps that came from his stench or lack of charm. Who knew? His brother wasn’t completely hopeless with the fairer sex, however, so there was no sense in not at least hearing his opinion on things.
“How do I do this?”
“Do what?”
Sam glared at his brother and had brief laugh in return.
“Dolt, you walk over to her, drop to your knees, then tell her she’s the loveliest thing you’ve ever seen and that you adore her. Then you ask her to wed with you.”
“She’ll think I’m mad.”
“Sam, she’s standing in our father’s hall in 1268. That you love her will be, I assure you, the least unbelievable thing she’s heard in the past four days.”
“But wed her then woo her?”
Connor shrugged. “Others have done worse with much less. Besides, how long has it been since you met?”
“One doesn’t count this sort of fate-drenched romance in mere days.”
“There’s your answer, then. And again, if she doesn’t like you, I’m available.
In the end, I suggest that you move very, very slowly with her.
Keep your distance at all times. Perhaps begin by sending her missives that express naught but faint interest, but always from a great distance. You’ll frighten her otherwise.”
Sam looked at him coolly. “You give terrible advice.”