Touch of Enchantment

  Chapter 21

  Tabitha had never seen a man look quite so miserable and never enjoyed it quite so much.

  Colin sat at the head table on the dais, trapped between his jovial host and his radiant bride-to-be. A roguish hint of beard had darkened his jaw, deepening the furrows around his mouth. His eyes still had the dangerous gleam of a stallion on the verge of bolting. Even with his hair bound neatly at his nape, Tabitha had never seen him look more like a barbarian.

  His misery couldn't quite take the sting out of her own suffering. It still hurt too much to see those striking dark heads together. Even she had to admit they made the perfect couple. Lyssandra was just the right height to look up to him.

  The knuckles wrapped around the stem of the golden goblet he shared with his fiancee whitened with strain as he was forced to endure toast after toast to his impending nuptials.

  A shriveled old man hefted his mug. "I wish the lad potent vigor in the marriage bed."

  "And out of it," croaked one of the anonymous squires lounging against the back wall, sounding suspiciously like Chauncey. The jest incited several hearty guffaws and a blush from Lyssandra.

  Colin shot Tabitha an anguished look, but she ignored him, making a major production out of picking the almonds out of her pudding.

  A jug-eared lord lurched to his feet, sloshing ale over the rim of his goblet. "May God bless you with a passel of brats to kiss your cheeks and tug your ears."

  "His brats apparently didn't know when to let go," Arjon murmured, spooning in another mouthful of pudding.

  Tabitha gave her dinner companion a rueful glance. After the guests of honor had taken their seats, she and Arjon had been ushered to an adjoining table on the dais, near enough to bask in Colin's and Lyssandra's glow without casting a shadow over it. The man Arjon had identified as Brisbane's messenger flanked Mac-Duff's other side, watching the proceedings with a sour smile.

  An elderly knight rose from his bench, his drooping mustache adding a note of gravity to the occasion. "To Sir Colin, a knight dedicated to the service of God and king. His conduct both on the battlefield and off of it epitomizes bravery, nobility, justice, and – "

  "Fidelity!" Before Tabitha was even aware she was going to stand, she was on her feet. Keenly aware of the sudden silence and the amused quirk of Arjon's eyebrow, she lifted her goblet and smiled sweetly at Colin, who looked close to strangling on a mouthful of ale. "To Sir Colin, a paragon of Christian virtue."

  Her mocking tribute sent a chorus of "Huzzahs!" thundering to the rafters. She sank back into her seat. She would have been far too shy to initiate a toast at a Lennox Enterprises banquet, but having nothing left to lose was making her reckless.

  The MacDuff nodded. "Well spoken, my lady. Your eloquence does both you and your cousin honor."

  Colin's eyes narrowed, but it was that hint of a scowl that gave Tabitha a thrill of hope. Before she could savor her triumph, a battalion of pages bearing bacon-wrapped hens dressed with real feathers swept into the hall.

  Lyssandra picked at the steaming skin of her bird with a delicate ivory-handled knife, but her father used his bulbous fingers to tear apart the succulent flesh. Colin seemed to have embraced a liquid diet. Each time he took a sip, an eager page rushed forward to splash more ale in his cup.

  As his guests followed their host's cue and dug into their meals with relish, the MacDuff gestured, sending bits of chicken flying. "If you'd give me leave to summon the priest to read the banns, lad, we could have the ceremony on the morrow."

  Tabitha had never been so glad to see the stubborn jut of Colin's jaw. "I've told you before," he said. "I'll not wed Lyssa till she's turned eighteen."

  "Now, Papa. Don't nag poor Colin." The girl's weary sigh warned that this was a quarrel of long standing. "After all, I'll be eighteen in less than two months."

  Ignoring his daughter's pleas, the MacDuff pointed his knife at Colin. "Your mother was naught but thirteen when she bore you."

  "Aye. And fifteen when she died two stillborn babes later." Colin's eyes were beginning to smolder.

  Tabitha brushed a hand over her own belly, remembering for the first time what their unprotected sex might lead to. In the twenty-first century, any knight worth his salt would carry a crisp packet of condoms. Her distress was softened by a wondrous vision of a dark-haired, golden-eyed little boy stretching out his arms to her.

  She might have remained in her dreamy trance for the rest of the meal if Arjon hadn't popped a sugared rose petal into her gaping mouth.

  The MacDuff was still needling Colin. "Your father informed me that the two of you quarreled bitterly the night you went galloping off on your ridiculous" – he cleared his throat, remembering his audience of eavesdroppers – "noble quest. He begged you to wed Lyssandra before you departed. If you'd have heeded his wishes, he might not have died estranged from his only son."

  Colin slammed his goblet down on the table. "Lyssandra was eleven years old at the time."

  "Soon to be twelve. Old enough for you to put your babe in her belly and cement my alliance with your father before you committed your sword to the Lord."

  Colin rose to his feet. Planting both palms on the table, he leaned over into the MacDuff's face. Tabitha had to strain to hear the lethal softness of his voice. "And if I had, would my father be alive today? Would you have sent men to his aid when Brisbane attacked or simply ignored his desperate pleas for help?"

  MacDuff licked each finger in turn, the arch of his snowy eyebrows painstakingly bland. "Didn't Lyssandra tell you? I'd packed my entire household off to Castle Arran for the spring. We knew nothing of the siege until we returned. And by then, as you know, 'twas too late."

  The tension in Colin's stance showed no sign of abating. Lyssandra tugged at his sleeve, her lovely face reflecting her distress. "Papa speaks the truth, Colin. Your stepmother was a dear friend to me. I cried for days when we learned of her death."

  Colin straightened, gently shaking off her hand. "Is that why your father is entertaining her murderer's minion at his table?"

  Brisbane's sallow knight had been watching the entire exchange, all but drooling with anticipation.

  The MacDuff's ruddy cheeks puffed up with self-righteous indignation. "The quarrel between you and Lord Brisbane is an old one, in which I claim no part." His acid tone indicated that he knew exactly what had precipitated that quarrel. "Once you've wed my daughter, son, you'll have every right to tell me who I should entertain. And who I should wage war against. But until that time, I shall dine with, and kill, whomever I please." He rose and clapped his pudgy hands, coolly dismissing Colin. "Let's have some music, minstrels. 'Tis dull as a tomb in here."

  As the pipers resumed their melody, Colin dropped back into his chair. The calculating glint in his eyes warned it was less a retreat than a reprieve. Several of the diners rose to join the dance, including the MacDuff and Brisbane's man, leaving them in awkward silence.

  All innocence, Arjon blinked at Tabitha and asked in a voice strident enough to carry all the way back to her penthouse on Fifth Avenue, "Haven't you some skill as a troubadour, Lady Tabitha?"

  "No!" Colin said firmly even as delight brightened Lyssandra's face.

  "Oh, do sing for us, Tabby! I grow so weary of Papa's minstrels. Perhaps you could teach me a new tune."

  "Heaven forbid," Arjon said dryly. "The brat never could do more than squall like a dying cat."

  Lyssandra's smile puckered into a pout. "And have you forgotten, Sir Arjon, that I can also scratch like one?"

  He fingered his chin. "How could I when my face still bears the scars from your claws?"

  "I should have scratched out your eyes. 'Twould have been no more than you deserved for setting my braid afire."

  "Children!" Colin snapped. "Can't the two of you declare a truce? People are beginning to stare."

  "He started it," Lyssandra mumbled, scowling into her pudding with uncharacteristic petulance. "Forgive me, Lady Tabitha. I shouldn't have presumed
upon your generosity. You're a guest here at MacDuff, not one of Papa's trained dwarves."

  Tabitha surprised herself by gliding smoothly to her feet. "Why, I'd be honored to sing for you."

  Colin leaned forward in his chair. "I'd rather you didn't strain your delicate throat, cousin."

  She fingered the amulet. "Perhaps you'd prefer I show Lyssandra a few of my magic tricks. As you know, I haven't quite perfected making things disappear."

  Lyssandra clapped her graceful hands. "Oh, I do love magic even more than music."

  "Sing," Colin said flatly. "By all means, sing for us."

  He watched warily as his fiancee led her to a stool at the side of the dais. If he was expecting a few wistful verses of "If Ever I Would Leave You," he would be disappointed.

  Intrigued by the prospect of a new diversion, the acrobats collapsed in midtumble and the dancers drifted back to their benches. Hoping their standards of entertainment weren't any higher than Colin's, Tabitha cleared her throat, then threw back her head and launched into a soulful rendition of "Your Cheatin' Heart." She knew she was a success when the minstrels exchanged a baffled glance, shrugged, then began to strum along on their lutes in a flawless country twang.

  She followed an enthusiastic round of cheers and applause with a mocking "Torn Between Two Lovers," then belted out a rafter-shaking chorus of "Who's Sorry Now?" When she dared to glance over at Colin, his hands were clenched around the goblet as if he longed to clamp them over his ears or her mouth. From his murderous expression, she suspected the latter.

  She might have stopped there if Lyssandra hadn't chosen that moment to brush his taut jaw with a tender kiss. Tabitha felt a stab of pain beyond jealousy. So she leaned back on the stool as if it were the top of a piano in a smoke-filled bar and began to softly sing Nina Simone's stirring blues classic "The Other Woman." The minstrels lowered their lutes, reluctant to disturb the sultry intimacy of the melody.

  Yearning robbed Tabitha's voice of its sarcasm. She could only gaze at Colin as if he were the only man in the hall, her heart laid bare by the simple lyrics. Taking another sip of ale, he met her gaze squarely. The MacDuff's shrewd eyes missed little, but the sentimental Lyssandra was occupied with dabbing crystalline teardrops from her cheeks. Snorting in disgust, Arjon tossed a kerchief at her. She blew her dainty nose on it and handed it back to him, ignoring his grimace.

  As the last note warbled from Tabitha's throat, Colin stood. She hoped in that moment that he would come to her. That he would march across that dais, draw her into his arms, and proudly proclaim that she was the only woman he adored.

  Snatching up a full flagon of ale, he shoved back his chair and pushed his way through the crowd, passing through the outer door without once looking back.

  Tabitha tossed and turned on the feather mattress, feeling as if she were drowning in its smothering softness, unable to find a comfortable position. Finally she sat up and hugged her knees.

  Moonlight streamed through the stained-glass window, painting the tiled floor an ethereal shade of rose. Too restless to sit and brood, Tabitha clambered down from the tall four-poster and padded across the room, the sleeveless slip she wore brushing the floor. Lyssandra had been shocked when she'd asked to sleep in the garment, informing her primly that it was customary to slumber in the nude.

  The chamber Colin's fiancee had provided for her was every little girl's fantasy. As she unlatched the window and gazed into the deserted night, she wouldn't have been surprised to see Rapunzel Barbie and Prince Charming Ken come cruising up the drawbridge in their pink convertible.

  Every little girl's fantasy had turned into her nightmare. She yearned to escape the colorful tapestries that draped the walls and the murals painted on the ceiling. They only mocked her with their images of fair ladies, bold knights, and golden-horned unicorns resting their heads shyly in the laps of virginal princesses.

  The cool night breeze ruffled her tousled bangs. She was no longer a virgin and she'd never been a princess. She had simply been deluding herself. She was Tabitha Lennox – girl genius, M.I.T. graduate, and department head of the Lennox Enterprises Virtual Reality Division. She didn't belong in this enchanted kingdom any more than she'd ever belonged anywhere but her tidy penthouse. She should be there now, sipping espresso, listening to jazz, and watching rain course down the smog-tinted windows.

  She lifted her amulet to the moonlight, marveling at its unearthly beauty. There was nothing left for her to do but bow out gracefully and leave Colin and Lyssandra to their own happy ending. She could only hope her parents would forgive her once she returned to her own time. She had left their fates hanging in the balance while she chased a dream. A dream that had turned out to be as ridiculous as it was elusive.

  She wondered if Colin would feel regret or relief when he discovered she was gone. At least he'd be spared the unpleasant task of sharpening his feathered quill and writing her a Dear Jane letter. Maybe someday he would even be able to look back upon the night they'd shared as a magical interlude, unspoiled by bitterness or remorse.

  She clutched the amulet and closed her eyes. Her lips moved, but a wish would not come. She was as mute as she'd been all those years before when she'd suppressed her every dream and desire.

  Trembling with frustration, she opened her eyes. Maybe her wish was not sincere enough. Or maybe she was just left-brained enough to demand a sense of closure. Maybe the right words would continue to elude her until she could coolly shake Colin's hand and thank him for looking after her during her brief visit to his century.

  Tomorrow, she decided firmly. Tomorrow she would bid Sir Colin of Ravenshaw a dignified farewell and begin methodically searching for the wish that would carry her home.

  Home.

  As Tabitha climbed back into the big, empty bed, she wondered why the word tasted so dry in her mouth.

  She was having the most magical dream.

  Even a twinge of wistful sadness wasn't enough to spoil its dark enchantment. Colin was on top of her again. His breath fanned her throat, intoxicating her with the musky sweet aroma of hops. His warm, moist lips devoured the curve of her cheek before finding their way to her mouth where he drank thoroughly and deeply of her kiss. She moaned, exulting in his unabashed masculinity. He was rough where she was smooth, hard where she was soft, salty where she was sweet.

  She stroked his muscular forearms, beguiled by his urgency. Even as he tenderly ravished her mouth with his tongue, he was easing up her nightgown, filling his callused palms with her breasts and gently squeezing. It was as if the touch of her skin was something he craved to feed some shameless hunger he would never be able to satisfy.

  She barely had time to savor that new delight before he reached between her legs and cupped her there. His questing fingers created an exquisite friction that coaxed a hot surge of nectar from her throbbing core.

  A sweet dream indeed.

  If only…

  Tabitha turned her head to the side of the feather pillow, the refrain a wordless sigh. If only this weren't a dream. If only Colin were really in her arms. If only she had one more night to prove to him that no woman, in this century or any other, could ever love him like she could.

  If only she wouldn't wake up before this delectable fantasy came to fruition.

  Freed from the inhibitions of consciousness, her knees fell apart without shyness or shame. If Colin were really in her bed, she would draw him down and nibble that sulky lower lip of his as she guided him gently into the very heart of her. But her arms remained empty, the ache deep within her unfulfilled.

  "Damn it to bloody hell!"

  It was that muffled blasphemy uttered in a thick Scottish burr that broke the spell.

  Tabitha's eyes flew open to find Colin crouched at the bottom of the bed in a puddle of moonlight, fumbling with the ties of his hose.

  He slowly lifted his head to meet her shocked gaze, then flashed her a lopsided grin and touched a finger to his lips. "Shhhhh. Mustn't wake my sweet lady before I'
ve had my way with her."

  If only…

  All of her tender resolutions forgotten, Tabitha planted her foot in the middle of his chest and shoved, sending him sailing off the bed.

  Chapter 22

  Tabitha jerked down her nightgown and sat up, growing slowly aware of the ominous silence. Not a sound came from the floor at the foot of the bed – not a grunt or a groan or even a drunken snore.

  "Oh, God," she whispered. "What if he hit his head on the hearth? What if I've killed him?"

  Terrified she was going to find Colin sprawled in a pool of his own blood, she scrambled to the foot of the bed. Just as she was peeping over the footboard, Colin sat up, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle a shriek of fright.

  Gingerly rubbing the back of his head, he shot her a rueful glance. "Can't say I didn't deserve that."

  He looked so boyishly sheepish that it was all Tabitha could do not to bound off the bed, cradle his head against her breasts, and croon, "Och, Colin, me puir wee laddie!" just as Nana had done after she'd clobbered him in the chapel at Castle Raven.

  Instead, she summoned all of her indignation and climbed down out of the bed to stand over him, hands on hips. "You're drunk!"

  "Aye." He flashed her another of those roguish grins. "Drunk with desire for you, my lady."

  She refused to be charmed. "I've heard better pickup lines at the water cooler at work. Just how did you get in here? Did you scale the wall and crawl through the window? Sneak through a secret passageway?"

  He pointed. "The door."

  "Oh." Tabitha was vaguely disappointed by the lack of drama. "Well, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Creeping into a woman's bed in the dead of night to seduce her with your fiancee only a few doors away. And after all your pious talk about honor and chivalry! Why, you're nothing but a knight in shining tin!"