One Enchanted Evening (36 page)

“My lord?”

Montgomery unclenched his jaw. “Nothing, Phillip. Pain from my head, of course.”

“Of course.”

Montgomery didn’t dare turn his head to look around the solar, so he supposed Phillip would have to be his eyes for the moment. “How many are we?”

“Besides you and me and your guard, my lord, we have Master Fitzpiers, Maurice, Petter and the masons, and François, Joan, and the rest of the kitchen help. The stable master has barricaded himself in the stables with the horses and Master Petter has offered aid there to keep your horseflesh safe.”

“And the rest?” Montgomery asked with a sigh.

“We threw the lords Boydin and Martin into the dungeon,” Phillip said, sounding particularly satisfied by that, “and confined the lady Gunnild and her daughter to one of the chambers above. As for the garrison, we have eight men left, but I couldn’t say where their loyalties lay.”

“I’m not sure I could, either, Phillip,” Montgomery said grimly. He looked at his squire. “I’m sorry to have dragged you into this.”

Phillip lifted an eyebrow in a perfect imitation of his father. “Oh, no need to apologize, Uncle. One never knows how these things will be of use in the future. Perhaps I’ll need to lay siege to a keep where I’m not welcome—begging your pardon, of course.”

Montgomery managed a laugh. “I wouldn’t wish it on you, lad, but I suppose you’ll know what to do if you’re faced with it.” He touched the back of his head and almost fainted. “I’m not sure I’m entirely capable of a fight today, so I fear I must rely on you all a bit longer.”

“Of course, my lord,” Phillip said, rising easily to his feet. “We’ll keep watch.”

Montgomery nodded, carefully. He didn’t like the display of weakness, but he knew what he needed to do was sleep a bit longer.

He didn’t hold out any hope that things would have improved the next time he awoke.

Six
days after Pippa’s departure, he was thoroughly recovered and profoundly furious. He paced in his great hall, grateful for the exceeding hardness of his head that had repelled what could have killed him, and took stock of just why his fury had burned so brightly for almost a se’nnight.

He was just sure it had nothing to do with the fact that he had lost the one woman he had ever loved.

His household was greatly reduced, which probably should have pleased him given that there were now fewer people who wanted him gone, but it angered him to be feeding garrison knights who couldn’t be entirely counted on to fight with him instead of against him. The kitchen staff was more dependable than those lads.

Petter and his masons were easily as fierce as he would have expected them to be, indeed they had been who had saved him from being tossed into the cesspit after Pippa and left to drown. Fitzpiers had then led the charge to herd the Sedgwick cousins into a group and send them to places they hadn’t been happy to go.

Those lads, added to the eight guardsmen left who were only slightly disturbed instead of beside themselves at the thought of serving one whom they considered to be a warlock, were all that was left to him. He had, once he’d been able to see straight, freed Gunnild and Ada from their prisons because it bothered him to keep women captive, but that had resulted only in many whispered conversations with the remaining garrison knights.

Montgomery hadn’t discouraged that. He had to force their hands somehow. Carrying on without a loyal garrison was simply impossible. If they were besieged, he didn’t want to have to be watching both halves of the battlefield to determine which was against him.

He had begun to wonder, however, if he would manage to carry on with any success even if he managed to sort his household. He couldn’t turn a corner in his keep that he didn’t walk over a spot where Pippa had walked before. He’d been convinced that sending her back to her time was the only thing he could do. He’d known the pain her family would feel at her loss.

He just hadn’t expected that pain to be his.

He wrenched his thoughts back to solvable things that made him angry. His problem now was twofold: convincing the villagers he was no practitioner of the dark arts and determining which of his cousins it was who had hit him over the head. He knew it wasn’t Ada because he had seen her fighting with Pippa. He hadn’t seen Martin on the bridge, though that certainly wasn’t enough to exclude him from the list of suspects. Boydin was the most likely lad, and he certainly had reason to want Montgomery dead—above and beyond the reasons his siblings and mother shared. Humiliation was a powerful reason for revenge.

It would have been easier to have shipped them all off to France, but he supposed he would be a fool to do that until he’d convinced them it wasn’t wise to cross him. He didn’t want to be looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life.

And despite all signs pointing to the contrary, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he shouldn’t send them off quite yet. If nothing else, perhaps he could parade them about the surrounding environs and have them announce that he was indeed just a man, not a fool bewitched by the Faery Queen.

Or that queen’s younger sister.

He walked out of the hall, slogged through the courtyard he hadn’t had time to empty of horse droppings, then continued on through his gates. He supposed if he’d had any sense at all, he would have kept the drawbridge raised, but in truth there was little reason for it. Petter had worked wonders already, but there were still half a dozen holes in his outer walls. At least if someone attacked, the inhabitants of the castle could flee out the front doors.

He stopped in front of the outermost barbican gate and looked across the drawbridge. There was nothing there, of course, nothing but autumn grass and leaves falling from the trees. He sighed, then began to pace. He supposed he would eventually wear grooves in the stone, but he didn’t care. He had much to think on and the castle was too confining for his taste.

To ease his distress, he reminded himself of every tale Pippa had told him on that gloomy afternoon before things had gone so rapidly downhill for them both. He had enjoyed them all, but the tale of Cinderella had intrigued him the most, likely because it was so accurate a portrayal of Pippa and her older sister—

He blinked, then frowned.

Were those shoes there?

He walked over to a spot of particularly thick muck and leaned down—carefully. He felt recovered, but dizziness still caught him up if he bent too quickly. That would pass, he was certain.

He pulled a pair of shoes out of the mire and almost had to sit down. Very well, so it was one thing to consign Pippa to events of the past that he no longer had control over; ’twas another thing entirely to hold something of hers and remember that she was a living, breathing, beautiful gel . . .

He stood there, looking at her filthy shoes, and considered things he hadn’t before. It was ridiculous, of course, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he shouldn’t do as Cinderella’s prince had done: take that glass slipper, mount his noble steed, and search the kingdom for his love.

Of course, that didn’t provide him with an easy answer for how they might live, or even if she would be happy to see him. For all he knew, she was perfectly happy to be back in her world—assuming she had returned to her world—and was counting herself well rid of him.

He half wondered if he dared find out.

He walked through the barbican gate and looked across his bridge. The sun was setting, turning even the watery, disgusting contents of the cesspit to a rather lovely color. It was a magical time, twilight, a time he had been rather fond of from his youth. Of course, during that time he had also believed in all sorts of magic he couldn’t see—

He froze.

Was that a shimmer?

He found himself standing suddenly upon the edge of the proverbial knife. There was, he could say with relative certainty, a time gate opening at the end of his bridge. He could, he imagined with equal certainty, walk through it and find himself in a time not his own, a time in which he might be able to at least take Pippa her shoes.

He might try offering her his heart whilst he was about that goodly work, but he supposed he would have to wait and see how the winds were blowing first.

He turned and hastened back into his courtyard, almost plowing over his squire and his garrison captain. He put out a hand to steady Phillip, then looked at Ranulf.

“I need to make a journey,” he said briskly.

“We’ll be ready momentarily,” Ranulf said, with an equally brisk nod.

“Nay,” Montgomery said quickly. “I want you to take Phillip and the rest of the household and make for Segrave. Petter and the lads can decide for themselves where they’ll say whilst I’m away, but I daren’t leave either François or Fitzpiers at Gunnild’s mercy.”

Ranulf frowned, obviously finding it difficult to reconcile the command with his oath of fealty. “But you’ll need men to guard your back, my lord,” he said quickly, as if he needed to spew the words out whilst he still could. “Surely you need—”

“You to guard what I cannot,” Montgomery said. He attempted a smile, though he found that his haste hampered his efforts at it. “I must go
now
, Ranulf. Keep Phillip and the others safe, and remain at my grandmother’s hall until I come fetch you.”

Ranulf spluttered.

Montgomery put his hand on his captain’s shoulder. “I will be frank with you, because of the service you have offered me and my family. I am about to engage in a . . . a paranormal oddity.”

Phillip’s mouth fell open.

Ranulf only looked at Montgomery with a gaze that was far too assessing for a man who knew only about steel and strategy. Montgomery patted his captain, then looked at his squire.

“Stay with Ranulf.”

“But, Uncle,” Phillip said, retrieving his jaw from where it had fallen to his chest, “you
cannot
.”

“I must.”

“But ’tis perilous!” Phillip exclaimed. “My father has warned me countless times to avoid those sorts of things.”

“Your father is a very wise man,” Montgomery said shortly, glancing up at the sky. It was darkening rapidly and for some reason that made him unbearably anxious. “I will come to Segrave to fetch you when I’m finished with my business.”

“Are you going to Faery?” Phillip whispered reverently.

“I’ll tell you when I return.” He looked at Ranulf. “Execute my commands without deviation. Take all the horses and leave Gunnild and her cohorts to their own devices. We’ll resurrect our assault when I return.”

“As you will,” Ranulf said, with a low bow. “Good hunting to you, my lord, in whatever forest you travel to.”

Montgomery could only hope he would manage to travel anywhere at all. He gave Ranulf one last look of warning, turned it on Phillip, then turned and ran from his courtyard. He could see the gate still shimmering there in the distance. He honestly wouldn’t have believed—well, not entirely—that such a thing existed if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes more than once. All it would take was a quick sprint down the bridge—

And into his cousin.

He almost ran into Boydin’s sword before he realized his cousin was standing there with it bared. He drew his own sword and engaged the fool furiously.

“I’m going to finish what I started the last time I saw you on the bridge,” Boydin spat. “I would have managed it if your damned squire hadn’t gotten in my way.”

Montgomery looked past Boydin and saw the shimmering begin to fade. He glared at Boydin. “Your life is what you make it into, you fool. Take your fury over being the second son and use it to start anew
somewhere else
.”

“I want Sedgwick!” Boydin thundered.

The gate began to close.

Montgomery kicked the sword out of Boydin’s hands, resheathed his own sword, then took his cousin by the front of his tunic and heaved him over the bridge. There was a splash, then the sound of hearty curses. Montgomery left him to it and bolted down the remainder of the bridge.

The gate had almost closed completely.

He flung himself at it just the same and hoped death wouldn’t be the result.

P
ippa
stood on the edge of Tess’s great hall and watched the occupants without really seeing more than just swirls of color. The party had started an hour ago, and looked as if it might go on forever. The guests looked as if they might have constitutions equal to dancing not only the evening but the entire night away. Pippa shook her head. Those silly reenactment types with their delusions of medieval grandeur. Maybe all their excess energy came from only pretending to live in the past instead of actually having to spend the mornings in the lists training their garrisons and the rest of their days trying to figure out how to feed themselves during the winter.

She was tempted to try to make a quick exit, but Tess was watching her from the hallway that led to the kitchen, and Peaches was standing at the base of the stairs, guarding them like a rottweiler.