One Magic Moment (36 page)

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Authors: Lynn Kurland

Tags: #Romance, #Fantasy

BOOK: One Magic Moment
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He put the brakes on thoughts that were too ridiculous to entertain. She couldn’t possibly know anything about him. Perhaps she was confusing him with someone else, or making up a tale from whole cloth. He comforted himself with those thoughts and settled for a fierce frown, lest he look completely undone.
“I have something to tell you about my sister Pippa,” she said. “The one I lost.”
He only waited. Words were almost beyond at him the moment.
“It has to do with her husband.”
John felt something slither down his spine. He would have said ’twas the cold, cruel breath of Fate blowing down the back of his tunic, but it wasn’t Fate. It was the unpleasant realization that he hadn’t been nearly as in control of anything over the past month as he would have liked.
“Nay, you didn’t tell me about your sister’s husband,” he said, attempting not to grit his teeth. “An oversight?”
“No, it was a deliberate choice not to tell you an interesting story,” she said, though she didn’t look as if it were interesting. She looked as if she were close to sicking up that truly vile meal they’d just ingested. “You see, Pippa found one of those gates you were talking about—outside my bridge, as it happens. She went back in time, met the lord of Sedgwick, and fell in love with him.”
“Denys?” he asked in disbelief.
She shook her head slowly. “Denys had already died and the castle reverted to its proper owner.” She paused. “Your father, Rhys.”
John thought he might have to sit down. “And he gave it to . . .”
“Your brother Montgomery.”
He had to lean over and take several breaths before the stars suddenly swirling around his head faded enough for him to see the ground again.
“I’m not sure I understand,” he ground out.
“Your brother Montgomery is married to my sister Pippa.”
He gritted his teeth. He couldn’t help it. It took another moment or two before he dared raise his head to look at her. “How do you know?” he demanded.
“Because your eldest brother Robin’s second son Kendrick, who just happens to be the Earl of Seakirk in the current day, told me so.”
John could only look at her, speechless.
“I didn’t need to hear it from him, though,” she said, her visage very pale, “because I watched the way your brother looked at my sister. I listened to them agonize over where they would live. In which century, rather—”
“You
watched
him?” John asked incredulously. “When?”
“Two months ago,” she said. “In my hall that used to be his hall—”
He walked away. He only made it ten paces before he walked back, took her by the hand, and pulled her along after him. He supposed he should have been grateful that she went along with him instead of punching him, but given how long she’d lived with her energy-analyzing sister, she probably knew he was about three words from absolutely losing . . . something. His cool, his temper, his sanity. He couldn’t have said which. None of it was her fault, of course, and he wasn’t the sort of lad to take out his anger on someone just because they were convenient.
But he could hardly believe what she’d just told him.
He took a deep breath. “I’m not sure I can manage speech right now.”
She only looked up at him, her eyes full of sympathy and her own bloody great bit of grief. “I understand.”
“Can you run again?”
“Yes.”
He supposed he could have run for days and not outrun his past, which had now, it seemed, fully caught him up.
He’d known it would someday.
He’d just never expected to have it do so thanks to the woman he loved.
Chapter 19
 
T
ess
wasn’t sure weariness quite described what she was feeling. She considered several other adjectives as she walked—stumbled, really—along with John toward a castle she could see rising up in front of them, but none of them could quite do justice to the bone-deep exhaustion she felt.
At least the end of the road was hopefully there in front of them. She’d been able to see the keep for quite some time, actually—no doubt the benefit of traveling on foot. It was a lovely, fairy-tale sort of castle that had first been shadowed by predawn darkness, then lit by a rare, clear-skied sunrise. She would have enjoyed it more, but she wasn’t altogether sure she wasn’t hallucinating it.
She’d long since stopped even wondering if John would ever indulge in polite conversation again. If he’d been taciturn when she first met him, he had descended into new and unfathomable depths of silence over the past two days. She couldn’t blame him. Medieval England was probably the last place he wanted to be, much less discuss.
Not that he’d been unkind. The man was chivalry embodied, briskly though it might have been exercised. He’d found places for them to stay, chopped wood for their meals, and forced her to sit at least a handful of times a day so he could see for himself if she had blisters on her feet or not.
But he hadn’t spoken beyond the most basic of conversation about the weather and her health. She couldn’t blame him. She wasn’t sure she hadn’t limited herself to those same subjects during those first couple of weeks after Pippa had gone back in time.
To marry his brother.
She felt his hand catch hers suddenly. She turned and looked at him blearily. “What?”
His eyes were full of something another might have called anguish. At that moment, it occurred to her that perhaps he hadn’t just stumbled accidently into a time gate eight years ago. Maybe something had happened somewhere along the line to
force
him to leave medieval England.
She wondered what it was costing him now to return.
He stuck his jaw out. “Don’t look at me that way.”
“What way is that?” she said hoarsely.
“As if you expect me to soon break down and bawl like a bairn.”
She looked at him for another minute or two and wasn’t entirely sure that he wouldn’t do just that. He looked absolutely shattered. She closed her eyes, then stepped forward and put her arms around him. It took a moment, but she felt his arms come around her.
“You won’t weep,” she said. “But if you wanted to, I would understand.”
He held her close, wrapping her in an embrace that was equal parts desperation, affection, and protectiveness. He bent his head and pressed his face against her hair.
“Thank you for understanding,” he said, very quietly. “I haven’t been pleasant.”
“You can be a bit of an arse,” she agreed, “as we all know.”
He laughed a little, a rasping sound that sounded like it was indeed on the verge of something very emotional, then he pulled back only far enough to look down at her. “Your sister and my brother,” he said, a little breathlessly. “Damn you, Tess, couldn’t you have told me?”
“Why don’t you look back over our volatile relationship, my hedging friend, and tell me just when I should have done that so it didn’t send you scampering off the other way?”
He was silent for some time. “Did you want me to remain?”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” she said, pulling out of his arms. “You’re not about to wring that sort of admission from me right now.”
He reached out and gathered her back to him. “What I want you to admit was how deceitful it was of you to
date
me for so long without giving me a single bloody clue you knew all about me.”
“I’m discreet.”
He laughed, sounding pained. “I suppose you could call it that.” He held her for several more, eternal moments, then released her only far enough to put his arm around her shoulders. “Let me escort you safely inside my brother’s keep, see you fed and warmed, then we’ll discuss it all at length. I’ll attempt then to redeem myself from my pratishness.”
She smiled, then felt her smile fade. “Don’t ditch me.”
“I wouldn’t think to,” he said in a very low voice. “Not here. Actually, not anywhere.”
“And that’s probably only because you don’t have your keys.”
“I have them,” he said. “They’re stuck quite uncomfortably down my boot. And nay, it has nothing to do with what I do or do not have. I would never leave you behind.”
She closed her eyes briefly, then looked up at him. “Are we in trouble?” she managed. “Are we stuck?”
He took a deep breath. “Let’s worry about that after we’ve seen who’s at home here. And if I survive the encounter,” he muttered.
“John—”
He nodded toward the keep. “I’m past thinking clearly, Tess. We’ll seek shelter, sleep until we wake, then see what can be done.”
“What if your brother’s not home?”
“My father is at Artane,” he said with a shrug. “That’s a pass to quite a few venues not open to the average traveler.”
She pursed her lips. “You’re slipping back quite easily into the role of powerful lord’s son.”
He shook his head slowly. “If you only had any idea how unsettling that is, you wouldn’t tease me about it.”
“I like you unbalanced,” she said pleasantly. “It gives me an opportunity to herd you for a change.”
“You can herd me right back into your arms as soon as you’ve recovered from this miserable journey here—for which I apologize profusely. I would have done it differently if I could have.” He looked at her briefly. “Your sister and my brother.”
“Life is weird.”
“It is indeed.”
The gates were open, but guardsmen were loitering there. The man she assumed was their captain took a look at John, made him a low bow, then looked at her and frowned.
“My lord Montgomery,” he said slowly, “and Lady Persephone . . .”
“Is my brother home?” John asked, not correcting him.
“Of course, my lord.” He looked behind John. “But your guardsmen, my lord . . .”
“We’ve had a spot of trouble,” John said easily, “but all is well now. What we need most, I daresay, is simply a place to sit and rest for a bit.”
“Very well, my lord. Let me escort you inside.”
Tess listened to the Norman French roll off John’s tongue as if he’d never not spoken it. She expected him to release her hand, but he didn’t. He merely laced his fingers with hers as they walked along behind the knight with a very bright medieval sword at his side. A page had been sent scampering ahead toward the keep to deliver heaven only knew what sort of tidings. She looked up at John in time to find him watching her.
“We might have a few things to discuss,” he said very quietly.
She pursed her lips. “Yes, all that rubbish about your misspent youth. You’re a terrible liar.”
“I am not. I’m a very good liar. And I never lied.”
“You withheld critical bits of truth.”
“I didn’t want you to think I was mad and lock me up where I couldn’t look at your fetching self as often as I liked.”
She would have blushed, but she was too nervous. Not for herself, but for John. “You’re not going to manage to throw me off balance with that kind of thing.”
“It won’t be for a lack of trying, believe me,” he said. He looked up at the hall, then caught his breath. “The saints preserve me.”
“Want me to protect you?”
He shot her a look. “I don’t hide behind women’s skirts.”
“They’re
my
skirts, my lord.”
He stopped suddenly, turned her to him, and pulled her into his arms so quickly, she lost her breath.
“I don’t think he’ll kill me if you’re holding my hand,” he whispered hoarsely against her ear. “So don’t let go.”
She hugged him quickly, then stepped back. “I won’t.”
“How’s your French?”
“I’ll manage.”
He took a deep breath, then took her hand again and turned toward the hall. “Here we go,” he murmured half under his breath. “A prayer at this point would not be unthinkable.”
Tess knew she probably wasn’t the first person to think it, but she couldn’t help but wish she’d been able to sit back and watch from the comfort of time and distance a video of what was unfolding in front of her. She would have known from the reviews how the movie ended, and she would have spared nothing but a moment’s worry over how things were going to play out. And while she might have felt some sympathy for the players, it would have been a more academic, removed sort of sympathy.
Instead, she was feeling her heart wrench out of her chest because she was standing in the middle of a family reunion that she thought might not go very well.
Nicholas—and it could have been no one else given how greatly he resembled John except for the fact that he was blond and not dark-haired—loped down the stairs with an easy grace that reminded her so much of John, she almost flinched. He looked slightly puzzled.
“Montgomery,” he said, walking toward them, “and Pippa, of course. Where are your men? I thought you two were . . . for . . . ah . . . France—”

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