Stardust of Yesterday

  Her blush was enchanting. Kendrick wrapped one of his arms around her and pulled her close to his boxer-clad form. When Genevieve encountered his aroused condition, her mouth fell open and she gaped up at him. Kendrick smiled sheepishly.

  “Can’t help it. Look what you’ve reduced me to.”

  She blushed again, deeper, and pressed her face against his chest. “I didn’t mean to.”

  “I think you did,” he whispered, bending to press his lips against her ear. “I think ‘tis a nefarious plot to starve me to death. Or is it merely a scheme to steal my breakfast by distracting me with other things? And what could those other things possibly be? Let me think—”

  She turned her head and kissed him. He knew she was doing it to silence him and save herself further embarrassment, but it achieved another end entirely. He stood perfectly still and let her have her way with his mouth. His only movement was to reach behind him and turn off the burner on the stove. Wouldn’t want the hall to burn to cinders because he was too busy distracting his lady to watch the fire.

  The moment he touched her tongue, he was lost. He groaned as he pulled her more closely against him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her hands in his hair. Kendrick fought the buckling of his knees. Before she was truly awake was obviously the time to seduce his lady. He shivered as she dragged her fingernails over his shoulders and down his chest.

  “Our breakfast will be chilled,” he said hoarsely.

  “We’ll make more.”

  “You aren’t awake enough to make that decision.”

  “I’m wide awake, Kendrick. And I think I’m ready to try this again.”

  He groaned. “Oh, Genevieve.”

  “Do I need to carry you?”

  He took her hand and pulled her to the door, stopping every few paces to kiss her again. He led her over to the library, through the main chamber, then opened the door to the viewing room. He pushed the remote off the couch and pushed his lady down gently, following her immediately.

  He touched her slowly, carefully, until her breath began to come in soft gasps. He kissed her mouth, her neck, her breasts, pretending not to notice her blush. Even in the faint light coming from the library he could see her color. And he found it bewitching.

  He moved over her, determined to go even more slowly, to fill her fully. He stretched out full-length atop her, then bent his head and kissed her until he felt her initial tension become a tension of a different sort entirely. And then he slowly, carefully and gently took her, telling her again and again how much he loved her. Perhaps later they would laugh as they loved. Now, it was too new, too fragile. When she could accept all of him without stiffening as she did now, aye, then he would make her laugh while he loved her. Now all he wanted to do was make sure she didn’t weep.

  “It’s better,” she whispered.

  He smiled against her neck. “Aye.”

  “Are you happy with me this morning?”

  He lifted his head and looked down at her. An odd question.

  “Aye. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You aren’t groaning.”

  “I’m too busy trying not to hurt you for any groaning.”

  “You’re doing a fine job of not,” she said, blushing.

  “Am I? Then let me see if I can bring you pleasure.”

  He covered her mouth with his and continued on with his intention. Her gasps stole his breath. He kept on, gently teasing her all the way to pleasure. When she found it, she dug her fingernails into his back and moved beneath him with an unconscious seductiveness that was his undoing. He lost his control before she had regained hers. He reined himself in, so as not to hurt her, than collapsed against her, wanting to weep.

  “Genevieve?” he rasped when he felt her tears against his neck.

  She shook her head and held him tightly to her. “Don’t leave me.”

  “Never.” He stayed right where he was and wrapped his arms around her, trying not to crush her. He held her until her tears had ceased and she was merely dragging her hand across his back rhythmically. “Genevieve?”

  “Yes, Kendrick.”

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “No, Kendrick.”

  “Why did you weep?”

  “Because I love you.”

  He smiled. “Am I crushing you?”

  “No. I like you here. You’ll stay awhile, won’t you?”

  “I’ll stay forever if you wish it.”

  “I do.”

  Kendrick did his best to keep some of his weight on his elbows so Genevieve could still breathe. And he smiled. He’d loved his lady well, bringing her pleasure. Not a bad accomplishment before breakfast. He grinned against Genevieve’s neck. Who knew what he could accomplish before lunch?

  Chapter Thirty

  Kendrick shut off the shower, relishing the feel of actually having used hot water for a change. He dried off, then put on what Genevieve called biker shorts. They were tight and bound his thigh muscles well. Perfect for training. A pity they wouldn’t come off easily. The more easily taken off, the better, as his fondest wish was to be in bed with his lady for as long as possible, as naked as possible.

  Unfortunately Genevieve was still sleeping. Kendrick left the bathroom and looked down at his love. She was exhausted, and no wonder. Over the past week they’d done little but make love, eat and sleep, though sleeping was only done when they couldn’t keep their eyes open. Not that he was complaining, no indeed. But Genevieve needed sleep and he intended that she have it.

  He donned his high-top sneakers and fetched his sword from where it leaned against his trunk. A morning spent training with Royce was what he needed. Then perhaps he would plead soreness and Genevieve could be persuaded to come into the bathroom with him again. She had refused ever since he’d teased her about the noise of her passion. Just the memory of that sweet afternoon sent heat rushing through his veins.

  The phone rang as he entered the kitchen. Perhaps Royce was reading his mind after all. He picked up the receiver.

  “Aye?”

  “Lord Seakirk? Ah, it’s Inspector O’Mally, Your Lordship. I came up to question the lads who gave your lady a bit of trouble the fortnight past and thought I might come by and give you some news.”

  Kendrick paused, faced with two alternatives. One was spending the morning listening to the Inspector ramble on about things he didn’t wish to think about. The other was training with Royce, then fixing his love a meal, carrying her into her library and making love to her again on that extra-large sofa in the soundproof viewing room.

  There just wasn’t a choice.

  “You can tell me over the phone.”

  “I spoke to Worthington, my lord, and he informed me of your nuptials and of the recent cure of your affliction.”

  “Affliction?” Kendrick echoed.

  “The one that forced you to refrain from touching anyone?” The Inspector chuckled, albeit weakly. “To be honest, Your Lordship, I’d entertained the idea that you were a ghost.” He was silent for several moments. “But such things surely aren’t possible. This is the twentieth century, after all.”

  Affliction? Leave it to Worthington to make it sound as if he’d had the bloody plague!

  “Ah, well,” Kendrick said gruffly, scrambling for something to say, “ ’tis the miracle of modern medicine.”

  “Your tale of being born in the thirteenth century was told very well. I must confess I believed it fully. And what I saw in your hall that day—”

  “Mirrors,” Kendrick lied. “Eccentricities of the nobility and all.”

  “Indeed,” the Inspector chuckled. “Now, on to other matters, if you will. When should I pop in for our visit?”

  Bloody hell, the man was persistent. Kendrick sighed deeply.

  “Over the phone, man. I’m too busy for an audience today.”

  Inspector O’Mally’s sigh was faint, but audible. “Very well then, my lord. It would appear that the two lads were from a nearby village and had been hi
red by a man from London. They wouldn’t divulge his name and I’m of the opinion that they didn’t have it to give. He paid them via a package posted in London. It will be next to impossible to determine who sent the package. They received a telephone call but we traced it to a booth in London, not a flat. The caller was a man with a nasal voice, but no other distinguishing patterns of speech and such.”

  “London,” Kendrick mused. “I know few there. Have you run checks on them? Anyone with an abundance of funds and a reason to want Genevieve dead?”

  “The only person you and Lady Seakirk have in common is Bryan McShane, my lord. I called his secretary and was told he was out of the office the week the funds and instructions were posted.”

  Kendrick stroked his chin thoughtfully. Bryan McShane? Impossible. The man was a pitiful rabbit. And he was paid far too well to attempt anything so foolish. How could he profit by hurting Genevieve?

  “Nay, my good man, he has no reason to want to hurt my lady. It has to be someone else.”

  “I will of course keep looking, but I’ll keep my eye on this young McShane, my lord, if you don’t mind. You never know just what lurks inside the criminal mind.”

  “You do that,” Kendrick agreed. “Ring me when you have tidings.”

  He hung up. Bryan McShane? Preposterous. The man was afraid of his own shadow. He wouldn’t have the courage to look at a thug, much less hire one. Kendrick shook his head and put the matter out of his mind. He was perfectly capable of protecting Genevieve and he fully intended to do so. The next lad who tried to harm her would find out firsthand just how fierce he was.

  He had just put his finger to the phone to dial when he heard the light thump of bunny-covered feet and knew that his lady had arrived. He hung up the phone and waited for her.

  She wore an oversized sleep shirt that hung to her knees and proudly declared that she’d fallen and couldn’t reach her snooze alarm; and, of course, she was wearing her pink slippers with the ridiculous ears that flopped over her toes. Kendrick opened his arms and she walked right into them. He gathered her close and rocked her as she yawned against his chest.

  “Poor lamb,” he chuckled. “Too early?”

  “The sun isn’t even up.”

  “It’s almost ten, Genevieve.”

  “It still looks dark to me.”

  “That’s because your eyes are closed.”

  “Do you have to be so damned cheerful so early?”

  He laughed at her disgruntled tone and lifted her face up to kiss her. She melted against him and he groaned as she wrapped her arms around him. There was nothing quite like a sleepy Genevieve to get a man’s blood boiling first thing in the morning. He’d experienced it just the morning before. He’d merely leaned over and breathed a good morrow into her ear. The next thing he’d known, she’d wrapped her arms around him and proceeded to give him sleepy kisses until he’d had no choice but to let her seduce him. And seduce him she had, not even opening her eyes. He’d expected her to then roll over and fall back asleep. Instead, she’d finally opened her eyes, given him a sleepy grin and asked him what he planned on fixing her for breakfast after that fine dessert.

  Kendrick grinned against her mouth, then pulled back and turned her around, swatting her gently.

  “I’m going to train for an hour or two. Go back to bed.”

  “You’ll wake me up soon?”

  “In two hours. Go back upstairs before you fall asleep on your feet.”

  “Be careful,” she said, feeling her way to the door. “Wouldn’t want you to cut off anything important.”

  Kendrick barked out a laugh as Genevieve disappeared. He toyed with the idea of following her, then forced himself to think of how fat and lazy he’d become. He needed to train. Two hours, then the rest of the afternoon spent lazing with his love on whatever comfortable horizontal surface they could find.

  He dialed Adelaide’s number, then asked for Royce.

  “Kendrick, you fool, what are you doing?”

  “Giving my lady a bit of peace. Have someone drive you home. I want to train.”

  “I have a motorcycle. Bought it yesterday. I think you’re mad to choose me over your lady, but I’ll be there posthaste.”

  “I’m not choosing you, dolt,” Kendrick grumbled, but Royce had already hung up. He hung up the phone and stretched, then bent and tried to work the kinks out of his muscles. It had been over a week since he’d ridden, much less picked up a sword. Royce would find him poor sport indeed.

  He took his blade and went to sit out on the front steps of his hall. It was cold out, but he forced himself to ignore it. How soft he’d become in unlife. He’d never before paid much heed to the cold; warring had never been a comfortable proposition and he had learned early on not to complain of it. He smiled. How easy it was to complain now, especially since a hot fire and his love waited within.

  He lifted an eyebrow as the portcullis was raised and a motorcycle roared through the gate. Kendrick grinned as Royce came to a halt before him. His captain was clad all in black with his sword attached to the back of his vehicle like a flagpole. Royce dismounted, took off his helmet and smirked.

  “You look like a lazy whelp, Kendrick. Get you to your feet and let’s have a bit of play this morn.”

  Kendrick rose and stretched. “Insults will not work with me. I’m far too contented for that.”

  Royce stripped off his jacket and peeled away NBA-style warm-ups. Clad in nothing but shorts and a T-shirt, he picked up his sword and motioned with it.

  “Tell me of it while we work. Tales of your fetching bride might be enough to distract me, and distracting me is surely the only way you’ll make even a respectable showing.”

  Kendrick picked up his sheathed weapon and grinned as he clapped Royce on the back. “Flattery always was your strong suit, my friend. And I’ll not share the secrets of my marriage bed with you. But I will hear of your conquests in the village. How do you find twentieth-century wenches?”

  “Very much to my liking, but I daresay I’ll never understand the concept of dating. They require all manner of gifts, meals and wooing and then I’m favored with naught but a kiss, if that.”

  Kendrick laughed. “You should have passed more of your time watching television, Royce. That’s how ‘tis done nowadays. And I’ll thank you not to ruin any virgins. I don’t fancy a line of furious fathers at my door each morn.”

  “I’ll do my best to humor you.”

  They walked around the side of the hall opposite the garden. Kendrick was tempted to have the grass pulled up and the lists reinstated. Nay, it was best to put sand down in the outer bailey. He and Royce would need room to train, and the inner bailey seemed too confining. He sighed as he pulled his sword from the scabbard and tossed the sheath aside. How strange life was going to be without a garrison of men to train with each day, without the worries of defending his keep against enemies, without wondering how he could balance what the soil could produce with what his people needed to survive. How easy life had become since his time.

  He realized he was staring blindly only when Royce put his hand on his shoulder and shook him.

  “Kendrick? Dreaming of your lady?”

  Kendrick shook his head. “Times have changed, my friend.”

  Royce smiled. “I understand your meaning, my lord. I’ll miss the roughness of our life.”

  “Liar. You complained each time we went into battle.”

  “I don’t know how you’d know. You were complaining much louder than I and doubtless couldn’t hear anything but your own whine.”

  Kendrick sighed. “I won’t miss the killing, but I’ll miss the excitement.”

  “And the cold, and the poor food, and the diseases, and the danger, and the leeches. I can understand why.”

  “That isn’t the point.”

  “We’ll simply need to find something to take the place of it,” Royce said, stepping back and drawing his sword. “Perhaps we’ll recruit a few lads from the village who wish t
o be trained and pass a few hours each day that way. As for the rest, we’ll take up other things to fill our days. I daresay skiing wouldn’t be a bad sport. I’ve always been fond of speed.”

  Kendrick fended off Royce’s attack with ease born of years of practice. In the back of his mind, he noted that he wasn’t nearly as out of shape as he’d thought himself and that pleased him. Aye, perhaps a sport was the thing. In truth, he’d gained so much more than he’d given up.

  He laughed at the thought. There was no comparing it. He had a strong body. He had a well-built keep and a bank full of money. And he had Genevieve. Anything else was merely a luxury.

  “I’m not so poor a swordsman,” Royce growled.

  Kendrick blinked, then realized his captain had thought he laughed at him. “It wasn’t you, Royce.”

  Royce grunted and renewed his assault. “Wipe the smirk off your face, Seakirk, lest you force me to do the deed myself.”

  Kendrick laughed again. He relished the feel of his muscles working as he wielded his heavy broadsword. He grinned at the shocks that went up his arm each time his blade connected with Royce’s. Nay, he’d lost nothing and gained so much.

  He parried with Royce until his arms began to ache and the sun was past the point of noon. He cried peace and Royce collapsed back on the grass.

  “The saints be praised,” he gasped. “I think I prefer being a spirit to having this pain of sore muscles.”

  “Of course you don’t,” Kendrick said, holding down his hand and hauling his captain to his feet. “A fine showing, little lad. I’ll even let you stay for lunch as a reward.”

  “Only if Genevieve is cooking. I’d rather starve than eat your fare.”

  Kendrick grinned as he resheathed his sword. “I’ve become a fine cook. Even Genevieve says my milk shakes are beyond compare.”

  Royce pointed out to him all the reasons Genevieve would have for flattering his ego and Kendrick laughed at all of them until they approached the corner of the hall. He put his finger to his lips. Royce stopped alongside him and they carefully looked around to the steps.