One Magic Moment (11 page)
He stabbed his sword into the ground, dragged his sleeve across his forehead again, then turned to go into the house for a drink. He froze when he realized he wasn’t alone.
Doris Winston was leaning against the wall, watching him.
He was flustered enough to swear, but he bit his tongue just in time. His mother would have been proud of him, but it did little for his level of comfort.
“You said you would play for me,” she said, fumbling for her cane—which he was just certain was nothing more than a prop—and tapping it against the sidewalk. “Though I will beg pardon for intruding into your private garden.”
“You weren’t,” he lied, because he’d been taught to be kind to old women. “I was just, ah, trying to keep from going to fat.”
“Interesting way to do it.”
“Isn’t it, though,” he muttered, half under his breath, starting across the garden so he could invite her in for tea and take her attention off things she didn’t need to be looking at.
To say he was alarmed didn’t begin to describe his discomfort.
“Don’t forget your sword, lad. Wouldn’t want it rusting in the rain.”
John blew his hair out of his eyes, then turned and went to fetch his sword. He resheathed it, then rested it casually against his shoulder as if it were nothing more interesting than a rapier, not a medieval broadsword. It was, as it happened, his own sword, the sword he’d been given as a youth by his father. At least he hadn’t been using the one he’d received at his knighting, or the Claymore purchased in the Future and generally kept hidden in the back of his closet. And he hadn’t been fighting someone else. Doris could have seen much worse things than she likely had.
He stopped in mid-step at the look on her face. He took a deep breath.
“Just a hobby,” he managed.
She only looked at him steadily. “I keep many secrets.”
“A pity I have none to give you.”
“Are you inviting me in,” she continued ruthlessly, “to play your lute for me? I imagine it goes with the sword-fighting expertise, doesn’t it?”
“Bloody hell, old woman, you’re frightening me.”
She laughed and took his arm, seemingly not put off by the aftereffects of his workout. “As I said, I keep many secrets for many people. I won’t tell anyone what you can do.”
“One could hope,” he managed. He supposed his fate was sealed, at least for the next hour or so, so he surrendered without complaint.
Besides, England was full of reenactment lads. For all she knew, he had an unwholesome fascination with time periods not his own and had taken that fascination to an unhealthy level. There could have been nothing more to it than that.
He ushered her inside his humble cottage, saw her seated, then locked himself in his room and headed for the shower. He cleaned up, purposely keeping his mind empty, then stowed his gear behind his clothes where it usually rested. He considered, then sighed deeply and fetched his lute. He walked back out into the little living room to find that Doris had made a fire and tea.
“Thought at least one of us should be comfortable,” she said.
“Good of you,” he said sourly.
She sat down in his favorite chair, then looked up at him. “Well?”
He dredged up his best company manners, sat down, and took his lute out of the case. It wasn’t an inexpensive reproduction, though it was indeed a reproduction. He’d had it made at great expense to suit his specifications. The mechanics were modern, but the sound was pure medieval.
He tuned the strings, then sang the song he’d recorded two days earlier for Kenneth, damn him to hell. It was one thing to play for himself—something he did quite often—and for old women who knew how to keep secrets, but it was another thing entirely to have anything of an antique nature associated with his name.
Not that anyone would have cared, surely.
He played for another quarter hour, then set the lute aside.
“Four?” Doris asked, disappointed. “That’s all?”
“Three more than my usual limit,” he said darkly.
“Then I’ll be content,” she said, rising. “Thank you, my lad. It was lovely.”
“I’ll take you home—”
She waved him away. “I need the walk.” She paused at his door. “You know, they’re having a little gathering up at the castle tonight.”
“I didn’t know,” he said. Didn’t know and didn’t want to know.
“I’m surprised you haven’t been more in touch with the happenings there,” she said mildly. “Given your affinity for the past.”
He forced himself to breathe normally because he had, he could admit modestly, iron control over himself. “I was still trying to settle in.”
“You looked settled in now. You might have an opinion on how things are run. Given your affinity—”
“For the past,” he finished for her. “Yes, you already mentioned that.”
She only looked at him blandly.
He suppressed the urge to drag his hand through his hair. “I dabble in history. Nothing more.”
“Young Tess does as well, which you know, but she might be in over her head tonight. I understand she’s putting on a small party for
very
exclusive clients who are notoriously difficult to please. Her sister’s in London and her caterer had a family emergency. I think she’s all on her own up the way.”
very
exclusive clients who are notoriously difficult to please. Her sister’s in London and her caterer had a family emergency. I think she’s all on her own up the way.”
“A pity,” he said. It was, but it wasn’t his trouble so he felt no need to rush off to solve it.
“She doesn’t look it, but I think she’s fragile.”
“She’s dangerous.”
Doris reached out and poked him in the chest with her cane. “You know, you little blighter, you
could
go offer her a bit of aid.”
could
go offer her a bit of aid.”
“’Tis hardly my responsibility,” he said grimly.
“And how many times, my dear John, have you taken responsibility for troubles that were not your own?”
He scowled at her.
“They’re arriving at seven for supper.”
“I am not a chef.”
“But you are an excellent lutenist.”
He reached around her and opened the door for her. “A good day to you, Mrs. Winston.”
She only smiled pleasantly, her dastardly duty apparently done for the day. She propped her cane up against her shoulder exactly as he’d done with his sword, then walked off with a spring in her step a woman half her age would have envied. John watched her go, then shut himself into his house and made plans for the afternoon.
Important plans.
Plans that didn’t involve putting on a tunic and tights and masquerading as some sort of medieval reenactment nutter who had absolutely no bloody idea just how unpleasant the time period could be.
He wondered if there might be football on the telly.
H
e
was still wondering that at quarter past seven as he pulled into the completely inadequate car park that huddled a safe distance away from Sedgwick’s modern incarnation of itself.
e
was still wondering that at quarter past seven as he pulled into the completely inadequate car park that huddled a safe distance away from Sedgwick’s modern incarnation of itself.
He was wearing jeans.
That was the only thing that made him feel in the slightest bit in control of his own destiny. He spared a few dark thoughts for his damnable chivalry that he couldn’t seem to control, then fetched his lute out of the boot of his car and looked at the castle with as much enthusiasm as he might have the welcoming maw of the Tower of London’s dungeons.
He looked over the trio of cars alongside his. Two pretentious Bentleys and a Rolls. He wasn’t surprised. He also wasn’t at all certain why he was lowering himself to waste his evening on people who would likely spend it looking down their noses at him.
He shook his head and walked over to the keep. The place was wearing its best torchlight and actually looked quite lovely for a very rainy evening in November that threatened to turn to snow before the night was through. He could smell it in the air and wished, belatedly, that he’d driven something less ding-worthy. He should have brought the shop’s Rover. Too late for that, he supposed. He would just have to press on and take his chances.
A bit like what he was doing with his life, actually.
He walked across the courtyard and avoided the great hall. He supposed he could, even after all the ensuing years, find the side door to the kitchens. He walked inside before he could stop to question his sanity—again—and found Tess up to her elbows in trying to simultaneously cook and direct staff who didn’t seem to be up to the most menial of tasks.
She turned at the sound of his footstep and almost dropped a pot of something. She set it down on the Aga before he could leap forward and rescue it. She looked at the case in his hand, then back at him.
“I’m afraid to ask.”
He pursed his lips. “You likely should be. Where are the snooty gits you’re being tormented by tonight?”
The girls in the kitchen tittered. Tess frowned them into silence, then looked at him. “I don’t think you’ll help, if it’s all the same to you.”
He set his lute down and shrugged out of his jacket. “I can behave long enough to entertain them. What can I do to see dinner out on the lord’s table?”
She closed her eyes briefly, then took an unsteady breath. “Can you stir white sauce?”
“Barely.”
She didn’t smile. She looked as if she just might break down and weep, which terrified him more than the thought of revealing more about himself to her and her guests than he cared to. He unbuttoned the cuffs of his only decent dress shirt, then rolled up his sleeves and moved to stand next to her.
“I’ll tend the saucepans,” he said. “You go play hostess. But fix your hair first. You’re looking a little frazzled.”
She blew fringe out of her eyes and glared at him. “I knew that.”
He gently nudged her out of the way. “I think a glass of wine might do you good.”
“I don’t drink.”
He gave her white sauce a stir, then went to rummage in the fridge. He came up with juice, which he poured into a glass and pushed into her hands.
“Imbibe.”
She drank, but it didn’t seem to be doing her any good. He took the glass away from her and set it on the worktable before she dropped it, then looked at her assessingly.
“Want me to go play lord of the castle?” he asked.
She looked momentarily horrified. “Ah—”
“I wouldn’t snarl at them,” he offered.
Her look of skepticism was priceless. He smiled to himself as he turned back to the stove.
“I’ll confine myself to the kitchens for the moment,” he promised. “If that will make you feel better.”
“It will,” she agreed, “because I very much need these people to leave happy. And the beef needs to come out in ten minutes.”
“I have a watch.”
She walked over to stand next to him, then reached out to give her sauce one last stir. Her hands were trembling, but he pretended not to notice.
“The veg is in the steamer and the bread warming in the back there,” she said, her voice suffering from the same affliction as her hands. “I’ll come back and put it together if you can keep it from burning.”
“I think I can manage it.”
She was silent long enough that he felt compelled to look at her. She was watching him gravely.
“I’m not trying to insult you,” she said quietly.
He smiled grimly. “You don’t have to like me, Miss Alexander.”
“Maybe not, but I can be appreciative of your efforts. Which I am. Very.”
He nodded over his shoulder at the passageway that wound up to the great hall. “Go see to your guests. I’ll keep your supper from going up in flames, and I won’t corrupt your staff.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“I imagined you would.”
She took a deep breath and walked away. He knew he shouldn’t have, but he couldn’t stop himself from turning a bit to watch her leave the kitchen.
He heartily wished he hadn’t.
She pulled her hair free of her chignon and it fell in a cascade of irrepressible curls halfway down her back before she expertly caught it back up at the back of her head. She put her shoulders back and marched up the passageway, all business in a black skirt and sweater.
He turned back to his sauce before he looked any longer where he shouldn’t have. Truly, he wasn’t interested in her or her life or what she thought of living in a castle when she likely could have sold the thing and bought herself a quite comfortable country home. Perhaps she was a glutton for punishment. Perhaps she was another of those unrealistic souls who thought medieval times to be quite romantic.
Perhaps she was just a lovely woman doing the best she could with what she’d been given.
He supposed it would be wise not to speculate. He checked his watch, continued to stir, then followed Tess’s instructions about removing things from the heat. He happily let her take over when she returned, did what she asked, then stood with her as the kitchen gels began to carry in supper. Tess watched the last one leave, then looked at his case in the corner for a moment before she looked up at him.
Other books
Blades of Winter by G. T. Almasi
The Bootleggers by Kenneth L. Levinson
A Rip in Time (Out of Time #7) by Martin, Monique
Heart of the Incubus by Rosalie Lario
On Chasing Brad Through Purgatory by Stephen Benatar
Lyrics by Richard Matheson
A Little More Scandal by Carrie Lofty
Memoirs of a Hoyden by Joan Smith
Provoking the Spirit by Crista McHugh
The Ever Breath by Julianna Baggott