“I don’t know why you think this is so funny,” she said, her teeth chattering.
Miles laughed and kissed her. “ ’Tis merely my sire, Abby. He will love you because you are you. We’ll tell him you’re from Michigan, which is a very long way away, and that you have no family nearby. You were out, lost your way, and wound up at my hall. That’s truth enough for the moment. We’ll worry about the rest later.”
“If you say so.”
“Trust me. Now, let’s go let the irritating old man in.”
He hadn’t taken ten steps when the front door burst open and not only his father, but his father and all four of his brothers burst into the hall, swords drawn, looking for all the world as if they’d expected a battle.
Rhys pulled up short and gaped. Robin, Nicholas, Montgomery, and John all did the same, piling up behind their father and almost sending him sprawling. Once the armored group of five regained their collective balance, a hush descended.
“So, ’tis as the abbot said,” Robin whispered, in disbelief. “He did find a wench daft enough to wed him.”
Rhys silenced his eldest son with an elbow to the ribs, then looked at Miles assessingly.
“I assumed I would come and find you overrun by ruffians, since you sent back your guardsmen.”
“Nay, I am well,” Miles said, fighting his smile.
Rhys nodded. “I can see why you wanted the hall to yourself.”
“Aye,” Miles agreed, “I daresay you can.”
“Saints, she’s fetching,” Montgomery and John said together.
Miles scowled. His younger brothers were twins, and randy ones at that. He put an arm possessively around his wife.
“Aye, she is,” he growled. “And she wed me.”
“Poor girl,” Robin said, with a regretful shake of his head. “Montgomery, go fetch Mother and the girls so they can offer Miles’s bride some well-needed comfort. I’ve no doubt she’s had a very trying day.”
Miles growled at Robin. His eldest brother sent a nasty grin back his way. Miles turned his attention back to his sire. He watched his father chew on the facts for a moment or two and come to a decision. Rhys resheathed his sword and crossed the hall. He took Abigail’s hand and raised it to his lips.
“Well met, daughter,” he said, with a gentle smile. “My son smiles, so I must assume you have made him do so. Now, how does he sit with you? Tolerably well?”
“Oh,” Abigail said faintly. “I think he’s wonderful.”
Miles beamed at his father. “She has excellent taste, Papa, don’t you think?”
Rhys laughed. “Saints, Miles, here I thought I would find you shut up in this pile of stones like a hermit, and now I find I’ve interrupted the post-nuptial festivities.”
“Aye,” Miles said, remembering why he’d been irritated with his sire. “You timing is, as usual, very poor.”
He would have said quite a bit more, but he didn’t have the chance, for his mother, sisters, sister-in-law, and numerous nieces and nephews had entered the hall, along with the abbot, several people who weren’t family but thought they were, and an army of servants. Miles groaned. Where was he going to put all these souls? And where was he going to find privacy with Abigail?
“Peachy,” he muttered to Abigail, then threw his father a very disgruntled look. He received a wink and a hearty laugh in return. Miles scowled and turned to watch his mother come toward him. He had the feeling, much to his further disgruntlement, that once the introductions were made, it would be the last he would see of his wife for quite some time.
ABBY STAGGERED UNDER the onslaught of people. Once Miles’s mother had entered the room, chaos erupted. If her beauty hadn’t been enough to do it, the way she herded the men into work parties certainly would have. She was followed by at least two dozen people who were dressed very nicely, and at least a dozen who Abby surmised must be servants. Miles’s mother came to her immediately.
“I’m Gwen,” she said, “and I can see why Miles kept you a secret, for he would have been fighting his brothers to have you.”
“Oh,” Abby said, clutching Miles’s hand, “I think I would have liked him best anyway.”
Miles laughed and gave Abby’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I think she loves me, Mama.”
“How on earth were you fortunate enough to find her, my son?”
“Abby chased her cat into my moat.”
Abby willed Miles to look at her, and he did—finally. He winked, then leaned down to kiss her.
“I’m afraid the only privacy we may have is in the stables. When I can get you away from the women of my family, that is.”
“Shucks, what’s a little hay between friends?”
“My thoughts exactly—”
And that was the last she saw of him for quite some time. Gwen took her in hand. Abby found nothing but affection and acceptance in Gwen’s aqua eyes, and soon felt completely at ease with the woman. Gwen formally introduced her to Miles’s four brothers, his twin sister, and his elder sister. Then there were the in-laws, which was confusing in its own right; grandchildren, and then non-family members who seemed to feel just like family. Abby promptly forgot everyone’s name. Oh, the hazards of too many in-laws!
“Greenery!” one older boy yelled. “Where does it go, Grandmother Gwen?”
Gwen linked arms with Abby. “ ’Tis Abby’s hall, Phillip. She’ll tell you where she likes it.”
“And we’ve things for you,” said another in-law, a woman who looked like a younger version of Gwen. “I’m Amanda. Miles and I fight, but not as badly as I fight with Robin. Oddly enough, I had the feeling Miles would marry soon. I think I must have brought these with you in mind.” She held up a basket filled with, of all things, solid soap, clean linen towels, and a comb. Abby sniffed the soap cautiously, then smiled in relief.
“Oh, thank you.”
“Aye, and I’ve things for you, too,” another young woman said. She had long, blond hair and dusty green eyes. “I’m Anne, Robin’s wife, and I never fight with Miles. I think he’s wonderful, even when he’s being moody. I daresay you’ve already begun to tame him. He seems very cheerful.”
“Well, I—” Abby began, then she was distracted by clothes that didn’t look like Miles’s hand-me-downs.
Then it was off to a corner behind a makeshift screen. She was given hot water and no privacy for a sponge bath, but the clothes more than made up for that. No sooner had she been properly dressed and coiffed, then heavenly smells began to waft from the kitchen.
She came around the screen to find that the hall had been transformed. The floor had been freshened up, tables had been set up and covered with tableclothes, and food was starting to pour from the kitchen. Greenery had been scattered all over the hall and even a tapestry had been hung.
She looked for Miles. He was standing near the bonfire listening to his younger brothers, who seemed to be tumbling over each other trying to tell him some story. Then he caught sight of her. Abby blushed as Miles left his siblings talking to thin air and came directly across the room, pushing family and furniture out of his way to get to her. She smiled weakly.
“Like the dress?”
His mouth came down on hers. Well, that was answer enough. She clutched his arms as he finally lifted his head. Once she could focus again, she looked at him.
“I guess you do.”
He smiled down at her. “Aye, I do.” He stepped back a pace, made her a low bow, then offered her his arm. “Shall we partake of the festivities?”
Abby took his arm and let him lead her to the table. Within minutes, the table was overflowing with food. A small handful of musicians produced instruments and began to play. The festivities were soon going full swing. Abby had barely started to eat before she found herself being paid more attention to than the medieval celebration going on around her.
Toddlers toddled over to her. Children wanted to touch her hair and listen to her talk with her strange accent. And once they’d done that to their satisfa
ction, they simply wanted to be near her. Miles’s family hovered around her, telling her stories about her new husband, asking her questions about her own life. His older brothers repeatedly asked why she’d settled for such a clod of dirt when there were two perfectly good de Piaget brothers still looking for wives.
After quite a while spent at the table, the company adjourned to chairs encircling the fire. Abby leaned back against her chair and looked around her, hardly able to believe the twists and turns life had sent her along over the past few days. She shook her head, marveling. Her grandmother’s favorite saying had been “All in due time.” That, of course, had always been preceded by a bout of serious headshaking. Abby understood completely. Who would have thought she would find the man of her dreams and the Christmas she’d always wanted seven hundred years in the past? Maybe due time had a sense of humor—but what a wonderful sense of humor! So Miles’s hall wasn’t exactly something Currier and Ives would have put to canvas; this was so much better because it was real.
Food abounded. Family was gathered around her, a family that came with helpful hands, warm hearts, and teasing smiles. She had a tree in the form of the greenery Miles’s family had lovingly brought to spruce up his castle. The fire sparkled enough for hundreds of twinkling lights. And her best gift sat next to her, running his thumb over the back of her hand and looking at her with love in his eyes. He had given her so much more than a roof over her head, his own clothes to wear, and inedible stew. Abby smiled at him through her tears.
“Thank you,” she said simply.
He smiled in return. “For all these appropriately Christmassy items? For my family?”
She nodded. “And, most especially, for you.”
“God bless my surly and moody self,” he said, with a gentle smile. He put his arm around her and pulled her close. “I love you,” he whispered into her ear.
“I love you, too.”
He pulled back and looked at her. “I don’t know what my life would have been like without you . . . ha . . . ha . . . ha-hachoo!”
“Uncle Miles!” a young boy said, frothing at the mouth with excitement. “Look what I found outside!”
“Oh, kittens,” Abby exclaimed. “How wonderful!”
“Won—wonder—hachoo!” Miles sneezed. “Dab cats!”
“Oh, Kendrick,” Amanda exclaimed, following hard on the boy’s heels, “put the kittens back outside!” She looked at Abby apologetically. “His father put him up to it, of course, the lout.” She turned to the brother in question and glared. “Saints, Robin, you know Miles can’t bear the smell of the beasties!”
Robin didn’t appear to care. He was tipped back in his chair, laughing heartily. Or at least he was until Amanda marched over, put her foot on the front of his chair, and shoved.
“Out, now,” Miles said, hauling Abby to her feet. “Before the war erupts.”
“Where to?” she asked as he dragged her toward the door, away from his laughing family and bellowing brother.
“The stables. They’ll never look for us there.”
Abby fled with him outside and out to the stables. They stopped finally in front of a stall. They hay was covered with a blanket and a candle had been left lit on a stool.
“My mother obviously thinks nothing of my horseflesh,” Miles grumbled. “She could have burned the whole bloody place down.”
“Your mother did this?”
He smiled down at her and drew her into his arms. “She was freshly wed once too. She likes you very much, else she wouldn’t have bothered. Come to think of it, I like you very much too.”
“How convenient,” she said, smiling up at him.
“I thought so,” he said, lowering his mouth to hers. “Now, where were we before my family overran our wedding bed?”
AND AS MILES made her his in that very chilly stable, Abby decided several things.
One, central heating just wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
Two, condemned heretics made mighty fine lovers.
And three, Sir Sweetums deserved a promotion!
Epilogue
SIR MAXIMILLIAN SWEETUMS reclined on a most comfortable cloud, contemplating his well-deserved repast. He brought a particularly plump Tender Vittle to his aristocratic nose and sniffed critically. Ah, the bouquet was excellent! He partook with relish.
“So, Boss, you finished up de job?”
Sir Sweetums was in such a fine mood, he didn’t begrudge the bulldog his interruption of afternoon tea. “Yes, dear Bruno, my task is finished. The Abigail is well settled.”
“Yeah, Boss, but dose kids she’s gonna get.” The bulldog shuddered. “Yikes!”
“Never fear, Bruno. I’ll be there to aid her when she needs it. And I’ll have a care for her little ones. All part of the job, you know.”
Bruno struggled to scratch behind his ear. Once he managed to get his foot within range, he scratched thoughtfully.
“Dese jobs, Boss. Uh, don’t you need some help sometimes?”
“Indeed, Bruno, it is a most taxing venture,” Sir Sweetums agreed. “Never a moment to sit idly by.”
“Den, uh, Boss, I was wonderin’, you know, when . . . uh—”
The bulldog was positively aquiver with nervousness. Sir Sweetums looked at his loyal companion and felt compassion stir within his feline breast.
“Perhaps the next assignment, dear boy. It looks to be quite a tangle to unravel.”
“Golly, Boss, really? I really get to go dis time?”
Bruno leaped up in joy, lost his balance and fell through half a dozen clouds before he remembered how it all worked.
Sir Sweetums sighed. It would be a very long unraveling indeed, with Bruno aboard.
“More cream, Boss?” Bruno bellowed happily from quite a distance. “Anything else I can get yous?”
“Perhaps something from a different galaxy, my friend,” Sir Sweetums called.
Bruno bounded off enthusiastically. Sir Sweetums resettled himself to enjoy his peace and quiet. Yes, indeed, how happy The Abigail and The Miles were together. Sir Sweetums basked in the glow of a task well finished. The tranquillity was, of course, destined to last only as long as it took The Abigail to produce a child or two.
Bruno was, unfortunately, very correct about the offspring. Yikes! was the word indeed.
But never fear, dear reader, never fear! Sir Sweetums knew that The Abigail and her dashing Sir Miles would weather any storm together and love each other more for the surviving of it. In time he would, as a member of the Guardian Feline Association, have The Abigail’s dark-haired, gray-eyed children to watch over. With any luck at all, they wouldn’t inherit The Miles’s propensity for sneezing at the slightest provocation. Sir Sweetums smiled.
It was indeed a wonderful afterlife!
The Three Wise Ghosts
Prologue
THE INN SAT back well off of the main road, nestled cozily on the hillside amongst rosebushes, hollyhocks, and delphiniums which had long since turned their minds to sleep for the winter. It was a comfortable abode fashioned of sturdy stone walls and a heavy, timbered roof. Well-wrought leaded windows found themselves surrounded by thick branches of climbing roses and wisteria. Light spilled out from the windows, beckoning to the weary traveler to enter and join in a companionable quaff or two of ale before retiring to the comfort of one of several guest chambers. At the moment a thin stream of smoke wafted up into the darkened sky from one of the fireplaces, as if to indicate that the innkeeper was indeed at home with something tasty on the fire.
At the sight of the smoke, a tall, elderly man quickened his pace up the way. His feet skimmed heedlessly over the finely laid brick pathway that wound through the slumbering garden. He hardly noticed the richly appointed entryway with its heavy beamed ceiling. He paid no attention whatsoever to the long hallway with its walls covered by pictures of famous (and infamous) former guests. His crisply pleated kilt flowed gracefully around him and his great sword slapped against his thigh as he strode down th
e passageway. There was trouble afoot. He could smell it from a hundred paces.
He came to an abrupt halt at the kitchen entrance. And then Ambrose MacLeod, Laird of the Clan MacLeod during the glorious sixteenth century, statesman of the most diplomatic proportions and thinker of deep, profound thoughts, stared at the sight that greeted his eyes, frowned a most severe frown, and wondered what in the blazes had ever possessed him to leave his beloved Highlands. Never mind that he had kin in the castle up the way who warranted looking after now and then. Never mind that the Boar’s Head Inn boasted the most reputable and thorough hauntings on the isle—a distinction Ambrose had personally seen to at every opportunity. Those were things that could have sorted themselves out without him.
Nay, he decided as he observed the occupants of the kitchen, ’twas these two who had held him so long away from home. And damn the lads both if they weren’t assorted family, making it just that much harder to leave them to peaceably killing each other!
“And I say,” the first said, “he spends far too much time fiddling over those infernal gadgets of his.”
“Better that than flitting from place to place, never staying more than a few months,” the second retorted. “As she does.”
“At least she has the imagination to do so.”
“She’s flighty,” the second grumbled. “Changeable.”
“At least she hazards a risk now and again. Unlike that stuffy, pebble-counting lad of yers!”
That final insult was delivered by the man on Ambrose’s left. Ambrose looked at the ruddy-complected, red-haired former Laird of the Clan McKinnon (and Ambrose’s cousin by way of several intermarriages), Hugh McKinnon. Hugh was done up handsomely in full dress, his kilt swinging about his knees as he bounced from one foot to the other, obviously anxious to inflict bodily harm on the man he faced.
And that man was Fulbert de Piaget, second son of the fourteenth Earl of Artane, and to Ambrose’s continued astonishment, his own beloved sister’s husband. Second son though he might have been, Fulbert carried himself with the complete arrogance of an Artane lad. Ambrose couldn’t help but feel a faint admiration for that, especially considering the murkiness of Fulbert’s claim to several other titles. Fulbert’s finely embroidered doublet flapped about his legs as he gestured with his mug as he might have a sword.