Chapter 23
Twenty-three
The third time was the charm, wasn’t it?
Harriet put her hand on the latch of her very medieval bedroom door and decided it very well could be. She took a brief moment to examine the events of the morning thus far to see where she stood with those odds.
She’d been greeted by the sight of her parents’ knight in shining armor leaning back against the opposite side of the hallway, obviously ready to get a jump on the day. He’d pushed off the wall immediately and started toward her—
Only to be bum-rushed down the hallway by his older brother.
She’d listened to curses—Sam’s, not Connor’s—fade to the point of simply mingling with the sounds of castle life coming up the stairwell from below.
She’d considered the ramifications of that, then retreated back inside her bedroom to be warm while she decided on a plan.
Time Two had arrived when she’d tried the hallway again only to find it full of Sam’s sisters and their children.
She wasn’t one to give in prematurely, but all that medieval French had been too much, too early in the day.
She’d retreated back inside like a turtle back into its shell and given herself a few minutes to rethink her entire life.
Even taking into account the absolute improbability but undeniable reality of her current locale, she had no idea how to translate Lord Nicholas’s opinions on Sam’s suitability as a suitor into modern relationship goals.
What she did know was how tightly he’d held onto her in the stairwell and how thoroughly she hadn’t wanted to let him go.
Maybe it was possible to fall in love so quickly.
Sam’s parents certainly had, if his mother were to be believed.
And her own parents had been standing side-by-side at the Louvre, gawking at a floral masterpiece, when they’d turned, locked gazes, and known at that moment that they were destined to be together.
Her siblings were all firmly resisting the pull, but for herself?
The thought was just … lovely.
And given that such was the lady Jennifer’s third piece of advice for a good life and she was on her third attempt at getting out the door to find something pleasant to look at, she left her guestroom and counted that accomplishment as being approved by Fate.
She’d hardly made it ten feet down the hallway, though, before she ran into one of Sam’s younger sisters. Robust conversation was beyond her, but she thought she might manage a few words at least if necessary. The girl, who Harriet guessed was about her age, held out her hand.
“Joanna of Wyckham,” she said politely. “And you’re Harriet.”
Harriet started to agree, then realized that Sam’s sister was speaking English. “Um,” she managed, understanding at that moment why Sam seemed at a loss for words so often.
Joanna leaned in close. “We should be discreet about speaking this variation of the peasant’s tongue.”
“I like discreet,” Harriet managed.
“Perfect.” Joanna nodded toward the stairs. “I was on my way to the lists to look at things that intrigue me. Perhaps you would care to come with me that you might watch my brother with a sword in his hands.”
Harriet didn’t want to volunteer the fact that she’d already had that experience only because she wasn’t entirely sure how much everyone around her knew about Sam’s other life in the future.
“Also,” Joanna whispered, giving her a conspiratorial look, “I would be grateful for any intelligence you might want to share. About … you know.”
Harriet did know, though she would absolutely be checking with Sam about the particulars before she began to wax rhapsodic about modern food and hygiene products.
“Of course,” Harriet said. “And just so I know, where are you in line?”
“Next to last. ‘Tis very easy to get a bit lost there, especially with my brothers being so loud and annoying.” Joanna looked at her assessingly. “Where are you?”
“In the middle, but with the same problem.”
Joanna smiled, led her down the stairs, then linked arms with her when they reached the great hall.
“I’ve secreted cloaks and warm bread in Sam’s bedchamber where the little ones won’t find it. Let’s fetch it and go outside, shall we? I like to begin my investigations early in the day.”
Harriet had the feeling she’d either met her twin or made a new bosom friend.
She was still trying decide half an hour later as she stood on the edge of Wyckham’s training yard with a snoop who put her to shame.
She wasn’t on her home turf, admittedly, but even so she couldn’t deny that Joanna de Piaget had some first-rate spying techniques.
They were never going to completely blend into the man-saturated area they were there to observe, but the vantage point was perfect and no one had yet told them to take a hike. Mission accomplished.
Joanna looked at her. “I may have done this before.”
“It shows,” Harriet offered.
“I’ll tell you of the more noteworthy escapades when we’ve a few minutes inside by a hot fire,” Joanna whispered, “and perhaps we can discuss other things. For now, I won’t distract you from observing my brother.”
Harriet couldn’t deny that that was a very appealing prospect, so she turned her attention to the scene in front of her.
Her father was there, sparring with Lord Nicholas.
She could see he was almost beside himself with delight, most likely because not only did he have an authentic sword in his hands, he had a real live piece of history indulging in some friendly banter with him in the local vernacular.
Her only regret was that she didn’t have a way to record the whole thing for him to rewatch in his study with a glass of whisky in his hand and a vintage incandescent bulb in his lamp.
Sam was out there as well, trading blows and barbs with his brother Connor who was definitely no slouch when it came to the sword-wielding department.
Her favorite medieval knight, however, didn’t seem to be having any trouble keeping up with him, all his trips to the local chocolate aisle notwithstanding.
He was as ruthless to Connor as Connor was to him, though perhaps they both had reputations to maintain.
No one seemed at all surprised when Sam sent his brother’s sword flying up into the air where it almost blended into the clouds as it flipped end over end on its way down.
Sam caught it, laughed as he did so, then handed it back to his brother.
She hoped she would see Francine Collins again so she could tell her how very right she’d been. Samuel de Piaget was straight-up sunlight.
He dragged his sleeve across his forehead, then looked around the lists, perhaps to make certain everything was as it should have been, then froze when he apparently caught sight of her.
He smiled, then gave her a little wave. She suspected he might have even ventured her way to offer her a more personal greeting, but he was caught by his brother before he could.
Swearing ensued, then swords were again brought to the table and used.
“Do you have any French?”
Harriet pulled herself away from watching the potential carnage and looked at Sam’s younger sister, then shook her head. “Not enough, though I’d like to learn.”
“Choose three phrases, then,” Joanna said, “and I’ll teach you. I will not faint if they’re complimentary to my brother.”
“I afraid at least one will have to say something about his glorious crown.”
Joanna rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “If he were truly vain, I would mock him for it, but he can’t help being as handsome as he is. And he does make up for that with his good heart and chivalrous behavior, though perhaps not today if they don’t give him any peace.”
“Will they keep him outside all day?”
“Not if you’re inside,” Joanna said, “though if Sam manages a quarter hour within fifty paces of you today, I’ll be surprised. Why don’t we leave them to it and go warm up by the fire? I’ll see to your three phrases and perhaps you can tell me about romcoms.”
Harriet shut her mouth when she realized it was open and likely to attract a bug or two, then nodded and started with Joanna back to the hall.
She heard cursing behind her, then looked back over her shoulder in time to watch Sam being sidelined yet again by his father and hers.
Connor was standing next to them looking as if he very much wanted to laugh.
She had the feeling it was good-natured ribbing, though she wondered why they felt the need to torture him so thoroughly.
She was still speculating about possible reasons for it some time later as she watched the men of the family come tromping inside the great hall.
She suspected Jennifer de Piaget had long ago given up on a boots-by-the-door kind of thing and she couldn’t blame her.
For herself, she was happy to simply stand in the wings and watch Sam exercise a bit of his chivalry to greet her mother and his own, then laugh a little with her father, all with the ease of a man who’d grown up speaking French.
She would have taken a moment to wonder how it was he’d acquired such a perfect English accent in the future, but she was too busy watching him effortlessly charm everyone around him.
She understood. Whenever he walked into a room, all she wanted to do was sit down and warm herself next to the cheery blaze that was Samuel de Piaget.
Fortunately for her, he was a bit craftier than perhaps his family gave him full credit for because he backed slowly out of the group standing by the fire without anyone noticing until he was standing next to her. “My lady,” he said politely.
“My lord,” she said, making him a curtsey.
He blew his hair out of his eyes and smiled. “How are you?” he asked, reaching for her hand. “They’ve been kind to you, aye?”
“Extremely. Your sister’s offered to help me with some French.”
“I can only hope shove off, Sam doesn’t find itself on the list?”