Dreamspell (10 page)

“There were no survivors?”

“None.”

Regret shone in his warm brown eyes. “I am sorry.”

As they passed a cavernous fireplace, Kennedy was struck by its heat. It had to be eighty-five degrees in here. Of course, it didn’t help that, before leaving Brynwood, she had pulled the red dress on over the green. She reached to the brooch that held her cape closed, but the clasp Marion had secured resisted her efforts.

“Mayhap I can assist?” Leonel offered.

“I can manage.” But she was still struggling with it when they halted before Wynland and Lady Jaspar.

In spite of the other woman’s hand on Wynland’s arm, it was obvious he had been watching Kennedy—and that she had done something to displease him. Abandoning the brooch, she lowered her arms. It was then she saw the gryphon on the sleeveless shirt Wynland wore over his armor, the same as that worn by his squire. As his cape had covered it during the ride, the lapels of which were now thrown over his shoulders, it was the first she had seen of it.

“Lord Wynland, you remember my cousin, Sir Leonel Aimery.”

Wynland lowered the goblet he had tipped to his lips and inclined his head. “Sir Leonel.”

“My lord.”

The bird on Lady Jaspar’s wrist ruffled its feathers.

She stroked it. “Leonel received knighthood this past spring, a year early due to an act of bravery that saved the life of his lord, Baron Brom. To show his appreciation, the baron awarded my cousin—”

“’Twas naught,” Sir Leonel said.

Wynland considered the knight for some moments as if to determine if he was worthy of his new title, then said, “What do you at Castle Cirque, Sir Leonel?”

“I have no lands of my own. Thus, I have given myself into the service of my cousin.”

“What of Baron Brom?”

“He gave me leave to do so, my lord.”

Wynland opened his mouth to say something more, but closed it when his regard was captured by the armed soldier who strode into the hall.

“’Tis the captain of the guard,” Lady Jaspar said. “I shall not be long.” She turned to her cousin. “Leonel.”

He looked to Kennedy and bowed again. “My lady.” Led by the captain of the guard, he and his cousin withdrew from the hall.

“I wager you are sore,” Wynland said.

“What makes you think that?”

He swept his gaze over Kennedy. “You are not quite as tall as you were ere we rode from Brynwood.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Have you ever considered a career in stand-up comedy?”

He frowned.

“Never mind.” She lifted the brooch and searched the underside for the clasp.

“Do not remove your mantle.”

Context telling her it was the cape he referred to, she said, “It’s hot in here.” An instant later, the clasp revealed its secret.

He gripped her hand. “Do as I say.”

“I will not.”

“Lest you forget, you are more out of your clothes than in them.”

So they were on the tight side. She wasn’t the first to squeeze into clothes a size or three too small.

“I have warned you about your wanton displays.” He leaned near. “Though I cannot say my own men would turn from whatever temptation you place before them, those of Cirque are to be trusted even less.” His gaze intensified. “Have you ever been ravished, Lady Lark?”

As in raped? When he put it that way. . . But was it her well-being he was concerned about, or was he just giving her a hard time?

“Of course, mayhap a man would not have to resort to force to have you.”

Taking the dream to heart as if it was Kennedy Plain he smeared and not a woman whose reputation preceded her, she said, “How dare you!”

He put his head to the side. “Such outrage, Lady Lark. Surely you do not think to convince me you are untouched?”

“Of course not!” Immediately, she regretted the denial. It was none of his business that she and Graham had tumbled around the bed—on the rare occasion they were under the same roof. Hating the glint in Wynland’s eyes, she said, “Think what you will.”

“I do. Hence, the mantle stays.”

And if she defied him?

His grip tightened. “It stays.”

Grudgingly, she nodded.

He released her and carried the goblet to his lips.

A servant handed Kennedy a goblet. Too thirsty to reject the purplish-red contents, she took a long drink and nearly gagged. Not only was the wine watered down, but it was warm.

She blew hair up off her brow and affected a high wavering voice, “I’m melting.”

Her impersonation of the Wicked Witch earned her Wynland’s frowning regard.

She shrugged. “Never heard of the land of Oz?”

“That is where you are from? Oz?”

Why not? “Yes.”

His lids narrowed. “I have not heard of it. It is on the continent?”

“Uh. . .yes.”

“Where?”

Thankfully, a young woman dressed in a rough wool dress appeared. “My lord, they say you are looking for two small boys and a knight.”

Wynland turned to her. “What have you to tell me?”

“Methinks I saw them this morn on my way to the castle.”

“Continue.”

“I heard laughter and followed it to the river. There I saw two boys and a man clothed not as a knight, but who had a horse worthy of one—a black stallion fit with a fine saddle.”

Kennedy sensed Wynland’s agitation, was certain it was all he could do to keep his feet rooted to the floor.

“How old were the boys?”

“Four and. . .seven?”

“What of the knight?”

“He was of an age, my lord. Tall.”

“What color his hair?”

“Red, my lord.”

It sounded like Mac. The thought forced Kennedy to regroup. This was a dream. Of her own making. Thus, she shouldn’t be surprised if MacArthur Crosley played a part.

Wynland stepped nearer the girl. “Were you seen?”

She had to look so far up that her eyes nearly rolled back in her head. “Nay, my lord. I hid. All know the wood is traveled by men of ill repute.”

“You will take me to where you saw them.”

“But what of my lady? Forsooth, she will not like—”

“What is your name?”

“Joan, my lord.”

“Worry not, Joan. Lady Jaspar will understand.” He took her arm and called to his men.

The thought of getting back on a horse causing her aches to multiply, Kennedy started to follow.

“You shall remain, Lady Lark,” Wynland said. “I will not have you slowing me.”

Then he was abandoning her. Not a bad thing. She smiled. “Drive safe.”

Questioning came and went on his face, then he was striding from the hall with the serving girl in tow.

All that remained were those of Lady Jaspar’s household—predominantly men. And they were watching Kennedy. She shrugged, lifted the goblet, and sipped its wretched contents.

CHAPTER SEVEN

A
s the only remaining occupant of the hall, Kennedy turned her attention to the skin-and-bone dogs that snuffled amid the hay in search of fallen morsels. Poor things. They looked ready to lie down and give it all up.

“Lady Lark.” Jaspar had returned with her bird. “I trust you fared well in my absence.”

“I have.” Kennedy noted the woman’s flushed cheeks and the tic at a corner of her mouth as she advanced. “I suppose you know Wynland has taken Joan and gone in search of his nephews?”

Jaspar’s disposition soured further. “Though I warned him the wench lies with the tongue of a snake, he would not be turned from his course.”

Wench. . . Kennedy didn’t like that word.

Jaspar sighed. “I will have to deal with the trollop when she comes skulking back.”

From wench to trollop. “What makes you think she’s lying?”

The woman stroked her bird. “Likely, she fancies Lord Wynland, as does many a woman.”

Not this one.

“’Tis curious that he attracts them so.” Jaspar slid her gaze to Kennedy. “He is hardly handsome, is he? I wonder that any woman would welcome his embrace.”

Looks aren’t everything
, Kennedy silently defended him, surprising herself.

Watchful, Jaspar said, “I pity the woman who must take him to husband.”

A lie if ever Kennedy had heard one. From the body language that fairly shouted from this woman, she would not only welcome Wynland’s embrace but pity herself if another were to “take him to husband.”

The lady puffed her chest with new breath. “Enough, though. Let us speak of you, Lady Lark.”

Not a good topic. “After that horrendous ride, I’d like to clean up and rest.”

Jaspar put a hand on her arm. “Once your chamber has been made ready, you may do so.”

“No need to put yourself out for me. Whatever you have will work fine.”

“Nay, Lady Lark, ‘twould be remiss of me to not provide for a
friend
of the king.”

She was as suspicious of Kennedy as Lady Aveline had been. “Really, I don’t mind—”

“Surely you can spare me a few minutes?”

Kennedy swallowed her sigh. “All right.”

“Now, with regards to your gown. . .”

Not where Kennedy wanted to go. “Is your bird blind?”

Jaspar frowned. “He is a hawk and, nay, he is not blind. Why do you ask?”

“The thing over his head.”

“’Tis a hood.” She laughed. “I am surprised, Lady Lark. Know you naught of hawking?”

“I’ve led a rather sheltered life.” Or
had
. It was a long way from the grits and gravy of North Carolina to the grit and grime of Los Angeles.

Jaspar’s gaze reflected her deepening suspicion, and suddenly the topic of Kennedy’s clothing didn’t sound as bad.

“About my gown,” she said.

The woman clung to her misgivings a moment longer, then took the bait. “Lord Wynland said it does not fit well, that you have. . .” She smiled faintly. “. . .added weight.”

Kennedy clucked her tongue. “It’s all that fancy food they serve at court.”

The woman smoothed a hand across her eighteen-inch waist. “I fear none of my gowns will fit you.”

“Then I’ll have to make do with what I have.”

“My maid, Esther, is a large woman, though mayhap not as large as you. She may have a gown you can borrow.”

Never had Kennedy been called a “large” woman. She was no waif—at least, not in this dream—but one hundred thirty five pounds on a five foot eight frame was nothing to fuss about. In fact, she would give anything to be this weight again when she awoke.

“Are you not warm, Lady Lark?”

So much that the gown and hair at the back of her neck clung. However, as much as she wanted to throw off the cape, not only would her snug outfit elevate the woman’s suspicions, it would invite further insult. “Actually, I’m chilled.”

“You must be ailing.” Jaspar turned so abruptly her pet flapped its wings. “Come, let us draw near the fire.”

Kicking herself all the way, Kennedy followed her to the hearth where the woman passed her hawk onto a perch and lowered into the largest of three chairs.

As Kennedy settled onto the chair beside hers, Sir Leonel entered the hall.

“Leonel, dear,” Lady Jaspar said, “join us.”

“All is well, ladies?” He halted alongside the fireplace and raised a booted foot to the hearth.

“Quite,” Jaspar said.

Kennedy felt perspiration trickle down her back.

“You are not what I expected, Lady Lark,” Jaspar said, looking cool in spite of the heat beating on her. But then, the material of her gown was light and her hair braided off her neck.

Trying not to squirm, Kennedy said, “How is that?”

“Your peculiar speech, mannerisms, lack of. . .well. . .gentility.”

Kennedy glanced at Leonel who looked suddenly uncomfortable. Before Kennedy’s mother divorced her abusive husband, Kennedy had often felt the sting of such cruelty, especially from other children. Then she and her mother moved to California. For years, her mother put in twelve-hour days in hopes of raising her daughter above an eighth grade education. For the first time in Kennedy’s life, she had worn halfway decent clothes, made friends, and competed in school athletics that earned her a scholarship. Her mother’s selflessness had leveled the playing field so Kennedy would never again feel inferior to anyone. But then came Graham’s mother, an American blue-blood who had done her best to keep Kennedy off the playing field, even when marriage to her son had made an undesirable her daughter-in-law.

“I have heard you have not a surname,” Jaspar fueled the fire, “that you are not of the nobility.”

Kennedy rose. “If you would tell me where my room is, I will leave you to your needlepoint—or whatever you do for intellectual. stimulation.”

Jaspar feigned surprise. “Why, Lady Lark, have I offended you? I vow ‘twas not intended.”