Chapter 26
Twenty-six
Sam stood in the passageway at an advantageous locale for watching his lady’s bedchamber and smiled politely at a few members of his family who passed by him, ignored his father who only laughed a little as he strode down the passageway to be off on his own business, and refrained from stabbing his next oldest brother who seemed determined to haunt him like a bad rash.
“Sleep well?”
Sam pursed his lips and refrained from stabbing and swearing, which he thought showed a remarkable amount of restraint on his part. “Do you want to die?”
Connor only laughed briefly and settled in next to him. “I’ll distract the appropriate parents if you’d like to sneak a kiss or two. Really, Sam, you should be better at this. Did none of your skills at skulking about learned during your youth remain with you in your dotage?”
Sam looked at his brother. “Do you ever listen to what comes out of your mouth?”
Connor smiled, looking particularly pleased with himself. “I’m learning to make the most of the opportunities that come my way. You’re here, abuse must be heaped.” He shrugged. “Make hay and all that.”
Sam couldn’t deny there was a good argument to made for the same. He made himself more comfortable against the wall, propped his foot up underneath himself, then looked at his brother. “Are you tempted?”
Connor shot him a look. “Endlessly.”
Sam smiled briefly. “We have room for you.”
“You did,” Connor said with a snort, “until you got married.”
“You don’t mind the floor, do you?”
Connor rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t know how to find you.”
“Zachary is the current lord of Wyckham,” Sam said, “which I imagine you already knew.”
“He definitely has room for me.”
Sam took a deep breath and nodded. “He does, actually. I don’t want to disturb your peaceful life, nor take away a son from our parents—”
“You come and go.”
“So far.”
Connor closed his eyes briefly. “Understood.”
Sam elbowed his brother with less vigor than he might have otherwise, but he was attempting a display of affection, not to perpetrate utter incapacitation. “Visits are possible.”
“’Tis complicated.”
“It isn’t,” Sam said, realizing as he said as much that he was quoting Zachary Smith but unable to stop himself. “Walk in and out of a faery ring, bang on Wyckham’s front door, then give Maryanne a hug and refrain from slaying her husband. Borrow a phone and call me. I’ll come fetch you.”
“You mean, you and Harriet will come fetch me.”
Sam smiled. “Harriet and I will come fetch you, you can infest our flat for as long as we can tolerate you, then we’ll boot you into the nearest bog whilst we fly off to some exotic locale to sample delicious foods you couldn’t imagine.”
Connor looked at him bleakly. “I’m not sure I could do all that so easily.”
“And you don’t think John doesn’t have the same thoughts from time to time?” Sam asked seriously. “France is, if you’ll remember, not precisely up the road.”
“Someone has to take care of that overly fancy estate of Father’s.”
Sam smiled. “I think what our brother favors is Father’s very fine cellar full of exquisite wines.”
“Perhaps he spends more time in it than necessary thanks to his less-than-faithful wife,” Connor said grimly. “Though last I heard, she had run off with a Portuguese sailor who thought she was an impoverished widow.”
Sam looked at his brother and had absolutely no idea where to start with that.
“And that’s far too serious for so early in the morning,” Connor said with a smile. “Let’s discuss instead all the delicious things you will have waiting for my discriminating palate when I come to invade your existence like a bad rash.”
“Was I slandering you aloud a moment ago?” Sam asked in surprise.
“Idiot, who do you think taught you your best slurs?”
Sam would have responded, but he caught sight of his lady coming out of the doorway across from him and lost his train of thought.
Connor shook his head and walked away.
Sam didn’t bother to trip him as he so richly deserved, but that was because he suddenly found his arms happily full of his wife who was hugging him with a fair amount of enthusiasm.
If he returned the favor, well, who could blame him?
He was determined to be the sort of husband his sire would approve of, so ‘twas best to get an early and enthusiastic start on the same.
He looked around Harriet’s hair to find that his Granny Mary was also standing in the passageway conversing quite happily with Harriet’s parents, though he had no idea when any of them had joined them in that passageway.
What he did know was that he was rather glad that Lord Harold didn’t have a sword, though what he’d done to deserve that stern paternal mien he couldn’t have said.
Then again, having Harriet throw herself into his arms and hug him until he couldn’t breathe likely wasn’t alleviating the man’s suspicions that there might be things going on. Perhaps not at the moment, but with any luck …
“Sam.”
He looked at his wife and blinked. “What?”
She smiled, then kissed him. Perhaps he couldn’t be blamed if he completely lost his train of thought.
“Um,” he managed when he could think again.
“Harriet, let’s go find breakfast,” Granny Mary said cheerfully. “Sam can bring your parents, can’t he?”
Sam watched his great-grandmother make off with his wife, took hold of himself, then turned and smiled at his in-laws. He made them both a bow, avoided landing on his face, then looked at Lady Petunia.
“Breakfast, my lady?”
“Of course, love,” she said in her perfect French. “I’ll see if I can’t distract the rabble for you later, if you like.”
“I would appreciate that,” Sam said. “You might also save me from your husband’s steel, if you were so inclined.”
She laughed, which he supposed was the best he could hope for. He offered her his arm and hoped he wouldn’t fall down the stairs and take her with him. She did smile and pat his arm, however, as she released him to attempt the stairs first.
He waited for Lord Harold to precede him only to find the man waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs with his wife. He wasn’t sure if they intended to do damage to him or not, but he was no coward. He made them both a bow, then tried to look as trustworthy as possible.
“My lord,” he said, “and my lady?”
Lord Harold looked at him seriously. “We likely should return home, Samuel, wouldn’t you say?”
“’Tis sometimes difficult to judge that, my lord,” Sam said carefully, “though if you’re feeling a tug from the Future, ‘tis always best to heed it.”
Lord Harold smiled. “I would trespass on your parents’ hospitality for much longer, but I suppose there’s always tomorrow, isn’t there?”
“There is, my lord,” Sam said, deciding abruptly that there was no point in worrying about what Harriet’s father might or might not be up to in the future. Or in the Future. At the moment, he honestly couldn’t begin to qualify it.
He had the feeling the best thing he could do was find a way to introduce Harriet’s father to James MacLeod and let them amuse themselves as they wanted to.
“We’ve likely missed medieval-con,” Lord Harold said with a sigh.
“Dear,” Lady Petunia said carefully.
“I know, blossom,” he said lightly. “There is always next year.”
“I couldn’t help but overhear,” Nicholas said, arriving in time to insert himself into the conversation. “Tell me more of this con you spoke of yestereve.”
“Oh, no, don’t,” Jennifer said with a laugh, coming to link arms with the lady Petunia. “We’ll never get him away from if it he goes.”
Sam watched his father look at his mother with the same sort of careful look he used when he was on the verge of suggesting something appalling.
“I could,” he said seriously, “take up a different life as a master of ceremonies for this type of tournament.”
Sam realized Harriet was standing next to him and had no idea when she’d arrived.
He lifted his eyebrows briefly, then turned back to the conversation going on in front of him.
If he reached for his wife’s hand and pulled her close to him, he thought perhaps no one would notice.
He also watched his father wink at his mother, so he suspected he wasn’t entirely serious about traipsing off to the Future to take up medieval faire duties, though with his father, he never knew.
What he did know was that it made his heart happy to watch his sire put his arm around his wife and whisper something in her ear that was entirely certain was something appropriately affectionate.
‘Twas obvious where he’d gotten his love of a good romance.
“What if we consider a series of visits?” Harold suggested. “You’ve hosted us so capably, it seems only fair that we return the favor.”
And with that, they were off. Sam watched the quartet walk away, deep in their plans for mischief to be made in different centuries, then looked at his lady.
“Well,” he said, because that was all he could come up with on short notice.
She only laughed and put her arms around his waist before she smiled up at him. “Sleep well?”
“I’ve already been asked that,” he grumbled, “and nay, ‘twas terrible. Cold, drafty, and I was surrounded by lads in the tower who laughed at me in their dreams.”
“Poor you. At least you didn’t have to drink whatever it is your great-grandmother brings for her arthritis, though I limited myself to a polite sip or two.”
He kissed her forehead, then smiled at her. “She’s formidable and hard to resist.” He paused. “We should likely go home today, I daresay.”
She shivered. “I felt it too this morning, but I wasn’t sure how to say anything.”
“Freely,” he said. “I’ll always want to know what you’re thinking, so never hesitate. I think the only trouble we’ll have is getting your father out the front door.”
“Your parents have been very kind to mine,” she said, then she looked at him seriously. “Should we go today and where do we go to? Or from. Or …” She blew out her breath. “I don’t know how you do this so easily.”