Dreams of Stardust

  Amanda walked silently next to Jake for some time, until they reached the inner bailey gate. Then she looked up and swore.

  "What?" Jake asked.

  She pointed to the clutch of noblemen standing near the front door. "Lord Jedburgh."

  "Another one?"

  "Less vile than Ledenham, but no less crafty. Obviously he knows my father is gone, else he never would have come to the keep without sending word a day or two ahead of his arrival." She looked up at him. "It would have been polite."

  "Maybe he isn't interested in being polite."

  Miles held out his arm for her. "We'd best have you locked inside, then. Time to trot out my lord-of-the-castle mein." He looked at her archly. "How is this?"

  "So like Father I tremble in my boots."

  "You mock me now, but watch me at supper and see if I don't save you a goodly bit of grief," he said. He looked over her head at Jake. "Come with me, Jake, and look fierce. Jedburgh is no fool, and I daresay he will wonder why you are so near Amanda yet not wearing Artane's colors like the rest of her guard. 'Tis best you pose as one of my mates."

  "Whatever you think," Jake said.

  Amanda sighed, found herself guided through the press of Jedburgh's retainers, and up to her chamber.

  Pleading pains in her head was not a lie, and it did excuse her from supper.

  Of course, her ability to endure confinement only lasted until she heard the watchman cry midnight. She dressed in something of John's and opened her door, fully intending to have some peace on the roof. She ran into someone's back and screeched in spite of herself.

  Jake turned around and smiled. "Only me."

  "What, by all the saints, are you doing here?"

  "What does it look like?"

  "It looks as if you'll be skewering yourself on Miles's sword tomorrow when you fall asleep on your feet," she retorted.

  He only smiled. "You're welcome for the guard."

  "You're daft."

  "And you're beautiful."

  She smoothed her hand over her tunic. "Dressed for court, as usual."

  "Are you dressed for a walk on the roof?" he asked.

  Did the man know her very thoughts? She reminded herself to give more thought to Montgomery's contention that he was a fairy—but later, when freedom wasn't beckoning. She nodded.

  He held out his hand. "Want company?"

  She put her hand in his as easily as if she'd been doing it the whole of her life.

  But it was no less overwhelming a feeling than it had been every time—and those times would number three, for she could call each brief touch effortlessly to mind. She held his hand and walked with him down passageways and up stairs and finally out onto the parapet. He followed her around to the seaward side of the keep and leaned with her on the wall.

  "Magnificent," he said.

  " 'Tis, truly," she said, looking out over the sea. "I never tire of the view."

  "I can see why not," he said. Then he looked at her. "But how do I choose? You or the sea. Bewitching, the both of you."

  She turned her head to return his look. "Do you think Berengaria's a witch? Are you a fairy? Were you asking her questions to find out how to return to your home?"

  "What do you think?"

  "I think you have secrets," she said honestly. "You appear to be a normal man, but there are things about you that make no sense to me."

  "Can you trust me? Will you trust me?"

  "Haven't I so far?"

  He took her hand again and held it with one of his, resting atop the wall. He caressed her fingers gently, then looked up at the sky. "The stars are beautiful here. You can see so many more of them here than you can in London."

  "When the sky is clear," she amended. "Which is, I might add, not often."

  "They are like diamonds," he said, still looking up. "Diamonds scattered through the sky like Stardust."

  "Diamonds?" she asked.

  "A clear, icy stone that is much prized in my business," he said, looking back down at her. "Very expensive in its rarest form. But it looks a great deal like those stars."

  "How can you bring something down to the earth from the sky and wear it?" she asked. "It seems impossible. Much like this," she added softly.

  He took her hand in both his own and leaned his elbows on the wall. "It isn't impossible."

  "You are a merchant. I am a lord's daughter."

  He straightened and looked down at her intently. "And if I were something else? Someone with a title, lands, bags of money in my fists? Would that make it possible?"

  She shivered. But it wasn't from the cold. "Titles, lands, and gold mean nothing to me." She looked up at him. "Nothing."

  "They mean something to your father."

  "Aye, they do."

  "I could make this happen."

  "How?" she asked, then she shook her head. " 'Tis nothing but dreaming. There is no point in even thinking on it."

  "What kind of faith do you have in me?" He waved to the stars littered like dust in the sky. "For all we know, it just might be possible to pull some of that Stardust down and turn it into something besides a dream, something real, something lasting. If," he said and he paused for a long moment, "if it is something you want."

  She looked down. "I fear that wanting."

  "Amanda…" he said quietly.

  Damnation, where was that vicious tongue of hers, that hardened heart, when she truly had need of them? She looked up at him and savagely wiped the tears from her cheeks.

  "If you've no intentions of offering for me properly, then I've no mind to answer you properly."

  "And if I did?"

  "Offer, then see."

  He only laughed again. She was pleased to be able to provide him with such splendid amusement. But even as he laughed, he lowered his head toward hers. She closed her eyes, lifted her face, and thought she might have a bit of her own splendid amusement by having her first kiss be from this man.

  Her first in what she could only hope would be a very long succession of kisses from just this man.

  And no other.

  He kissed her cheek. Then he kissed her other cheek.

  She opened her eyes and glared at him. "Damn you!"

  But then he gathered her into his arms and somehow, the feeling of coming home, of being wrapped in the embrace that had been made just for her, was enough to leave her comfortably speechless.

  "I'll kiss you at the altar," he promised.

  "Ha," she said, resting her ear against his chest where she might have her mouth free to more easily comment on his words. "You assume that I'll be there to receive it."

  "A man can dream."

  "And you think a man can pull Stardust out of the sky and put it in his purse. Those are mighty dreams."

  "Trust me, Amanda."

  The saints preserve her, she did. She put her arms around him and held on tightly.

  The saints preserve her, she certainly did.

  * * *

  Chapter 17

  Jake walked around the inner bailey and enjoyed the cool. Dawn was already lightening the sky, but the sun had not yet risen. Miles would be loping down the steps soon, but for the moment, Jake had peace for thinking.

  And he had plenty to think about.

  He wasn't sure how long he had stood there with Amanda de Piaget in his arms, feeling something that told him that she was the right woman for him. Forget the centuries that separated their births. He'd never honestly dared hope it before. He'd never allowed himself to actually imagine himself as being allowed to want her, or to think that somehow she might be his.

  He was imagining it now.

  His conversation with Berengaria, as brief and sketchy as it had been, had been most instructive. Not that she was a time traveler herself—of that he was fairly certain, though who could be sure, given the way they had danced around that topic in deference to Amanda—but she seemed to have her fingers in the paranormal pie.

  Either that or she had a store of old wives' ta
les that would shame an old wife.

  To think, he might get back to the future, then back to Artane. He might be able to buy a title and some land. He might be able to offer for Amanda.

  After all, Rhys de Piaget had started with little more than his wits and a handy sword.

  He walked across the courtyard, staring at the flagstones, at the cobblestones, at whatever was being used from time to time to pave the dirt. Could he do it? Could he move back in time eight hundred years and survive?

  He considered his modern conveniences. All right, he loved his Jag, but it was, after all, just a car. He didn't care about ice, fast food, or, heaven help him, pints down at the pub. He wasn't opposed to camping, lack of running water, or the occasional bug in his bed. He had no lover waiting for him; no family to grieve his loss; no friends to speak of, at least none who would spend the rest of their lives pining for him. His life was his work and vice versa.

  He paused. Work was something he had to admit he would miss. He would miss traveling in airplanes to arrive hours later at exotic and dangerous destinations. He would miss slogging through forgotten swamps and the absolute thrill of stumbling on something missed, something that could be cut into soaring shapes.

  But could he not take that passion, and transfer it to life instead?

  Besides, why couldn't he hunt for gems in the past? Men still traveled, even in the thirteenth century. He supposed that men still designed pieces of jewelry, cut gems, sold them at a profit.

  He supposed the man that wed with Amanda de Piaget might also find himself too busy to worry about any of that.

  To think he might actually be that man…

  Mind-blowing.

  "Did you sleep?"

  Jake jumped a foot. He was almost certain of it. He spun around and found Miles standing there with his arms over his chest, grinning in a most unsettling way. Jake decided then that he liked Miles better when he was smirking.

  "Yes, I slept," Jake said, shrugging off his lack of it.

  "You're dreaming."

  "I'm plotting. There's a difference."

  "Plot later; work now."

  Jake made him a low bow. "Lead on, MacDuff."

  "Who?"

  "Never mind. Just go."

  Jake wondered, several hours later, how it was that Miles seemed to have such an inexhaustible supply of energy. Oh, to be eighteen instead of thirty-two, and have had a full night's rest on a bed that was long enough.

  But who was he to complain? He'd spent an hour holding the most amazing woman he'd ever met on the roof of a medieval castle in the light of hundreds of stars. Who cared if every muscle screamed for relief and he thought nothing had ever sounded as good as a cup of sour wine and some rough, still-had-a-bit-of-the-millstone-embedded-in-the-flour-kind of bread?

  Miles seemed to instinctively know that Jake was thinking about something besides the flashing sword coming at him because he pressed his advantage mercilessly. Jake found himself continually falling back until he realized he was within feet of the bailey wall. He dredged up what little skill he had, but it wasn't really enough.

  And then he realized how close he was to giving up.

  It surprised him.

  He cursed and fought back. It was tempting to dump his sword and take care of Miles the old-fashioned way, but he knew the rules of the game and he wasn't one to cheat.

  He held his ground.

  And then Miles fell back a pace.

  By the time the sun was standing overhead, both he and Miles were dripping with sweat, and had mutually called peace. Jake dragged his sleeve across his forehead. Miles did the same, then sheathed his sword.

  "Drink. Food."

  "I'm with you."

  Miles paused. "That was good work."

  "You just about killed me."

  "I needed to."

  "Apparently," Jake said dryly.

  Miles started back to the keep with him. "Perhaps this afternoon we would benefit from a change in our training. We could do more of your business with just the hands."

  "If it means I can take this mail off for a few hours, I'm there," Jake said, with feeling.

  "Done," Miles said, clapping Jake on the shoulder.

  Jake walked back to the hall thoughtfully, surprised at how hard he had worked and apparently how little he had gained.

  Obviously, he was going to have to work harder.

  He spent the afternoon with Miles on the beach, which seemed, oddly enough, the most private place to be.

  Amanda was under heavy guard inside the castle. Well, Jedburgh was under heavy, if not accommodating and fawning, guard inside the castle. Miles was suspicious and Jake had to admit he was too. Jedburgh was slick, but he honestly seemed to have very little interest in Amanda personally. He seemed far more interested in the weight of Artane's tapestries and the solidness of their goblets than he was the true prize.

  Idiot.

  Miles was a quick learner and within hours Jake found himself having deposited the sum total of all his knowledge on that sponge. It would take practice, but he doubted Miles would ever find himself backed into a corner without his sword and subsequently done in.

  They walked back to the castle slowly, Miles wondering aloud just how the skills he had recently acquired might serve him in the future. Jake was so busy listening to him contemplate miraculous escapes from blind alleys in seedier parts of London that he completely missed the hoofbeats bearing down on him from behind until he had almost been run over. He leaped aside with a curse, then gave Miles a hand back to his feet. Miles hurled a hearty curse at the rider's back.

  "We should do something about him," Jake said with a frown.

  "We've been trying to for years," Miles said, brushing off his clothes. "That was my brother Nicholas. He's in a tearing hurry. Maybe he caught wind of our visitors and decided he'd best be coming home to take charge."

  "Does he take charge?" Jake asked. The Artane brothers just seemed to get tougher as they ascended the hierarchical ladder.

  "Not usually," Miles said. "He's more inclined to sit back and let others cause a ruckus. Well, unless Robin's home. Then they fight like two rabid dogs."

  "Interesting."

  "Oh, they love each other well, but their fists do tend to do a great deal of their speaking for them."

  That was heartening, at least. Jake supposed if Nicholas said hello with his fists, he might be able to answer in like manner and not completely embarrass himself.

  "Thank you," Miles said suddenly.

  Jake smiled. "For what?"

  "For the lessons."

  "Any time. It was nice to be the one who has all the answers, for a change."

  "Aye, no doubt," Miles said with a smile.

  Jake walked with him up the way to the inner bailey, feeling altogether rather content with his life and the way things were going. It would take more work, but someday he might actually impress Amanda's father. Amanda's brothers seemed to be good sorts. Friendly. Willing to help when needed.

  Nicholas looked to be no different from his brothers. He was standing near the stables, chatting amicably with the stable master. When he saw Miles, he came over to him, slung an arm around his neck, and gave him a manly hug with several back slaps.

  "I see the keep is still standing," Nicholas said, pulling back and smiling at Miles.

  "Amazing, isn't it?" Miles asked.

  Jake watched Nicholas act the part of the quintessential older brother: teasing him about his lack of girlfriend and checking up on his activities over the past couple of years. It gave Jake the opportunity to size up a full-fledged medieval knight in all his glory.

  It was, he had to admit, impressive.

  Nicholas de Piaget was tall, easily as tall as Jake was, and Jake was a handful of inches over six feet, built, and very tough looking. If Jake had been the kind of guy to intimidate easily, he might have been intimidated. Fortunately for him, he had dealt with all kinds of men who thought they were tough, and he was not intimidated.
>
  But this was Amanda's brother, after all, and it would behoove him to make a good impression.

  Nicholas held out his hand toward him. "Nicholas de Piaget," he said.

  "Jackson Kilchurn," Jake said, taking Nicholas's hand in a firm grip.

  Nicholas nodded easily, then he paused for a moment and looked Jake up and down. He frowned, as if something just wasn't quite right in that vision. Then he shrugged. "So, is it Sir Kilchurn or Lord Kilchurn?"

  Jake smiled. "Just Kilchurn."

  "He was waylaid by ruffians," Miles said easily. "We gave him refuge."

  "You gave him refuge?" Nicholas asked. "I assume he is a friend of yours?"

  Miles shook his head. "He is now, but I knew nothing of him at first."

  Nicholas's friendly demeanor changed immediately.

  Jake understood. It was the same antennae that went up in his own life when he smelled danger.

  "Let me see if I understand things aright," Nicholas said, folding his arms over his chest and looking at Miles sternly. "You gave a man you did not know refuge in the same keep where Amanda resides, protected only by you and the wee babes?"

  "Actually, Amanda gave him refuge before I arrived," Miles said, apparently feeling no compunction about throwing his sister to the wolves. "But John and Montgomery were here to protect her."

  Jake thought Nicholas might soon have apoplexy. If the easygoing guy the twins had talked about existed, he was buried deep.

  "She also gave him your clothes," Miles said mildly.

  Jake wanted to punch him.

  Nicholas took a deep breath. "My ears are failing me," he said evenly, the twitch in his cheek belying his fury. "This man was allowed inside our keep and neither you, nor the lads, nor Amanda thought to make certain he wasn't a ruffian, or a spy, or a man who might want to steal Amanda and hold her for ransom." He pointed an accusing finger at Jake's sword. "He's armed, by all the bloody saints!"

  Miles shrugged. "He's not all that dangerous with a sword. He is with his hands, though. You should see him, Nick."

  The apoplexy neared its zenith.

  "He's a merchant," Miles added, delivering the killing blow.