One Magic Moment (40 page)
She let out her breath slowly and set aside academics so she could look at the sight she truly wanted to savor.
John de Piaget, medieval knight.
She closed her eyes—briefly, so she didn’t miss more than necessary. John was deliciously gorgeous, from the dark hair he kept shoving out of his eyes with a curse to the bottoms of his mud-encrusted boots. If he was out of practice with his sword, she couldn’t tell. He was absolutely in his element, fighting with an intense concentration she had seen him use in other things, laughing periodically at something his brother would say that she was sure wasn’t polite, cursing when Nicholas’s blade came too close to his face or his ribs. It was as if he’d never passed a single day away from his normal routine, never been anything but the fourth son of one of the most powerful barons in medieval England.
“Lady Tess, your cheeks are red,” one of the lads said, peering at her intently.
“I’m chilled,” Tess said faintly. It wouldn’t do to tell an impressionable young boy that she was lusting after his uncle.
She forced herself to tear her gaze away periodically to watch the other men training in the field, but they weren’t nearly as interesting as the two in front of her—and she didn’t think that was simply because she was fond—
She took a deep breath. No, she wasn’t fond of John de Piaget.
She was crazy about him.
She chewed on that realization for several minutes until she came to another one which was that
John
was crazy. His brother was obviously showing him no mercy, but he only laughed in the face of it. Hollywood producers would have killed to get their hands on either of the two men in front of her. Gorgeous, buff, and wielding swords as if their lives depended on it.
John
was crazy. His brother was obviously showing him no mercy, but he only laughed in the face of it. Hollywood producers would have killed to get their hands on either of the two men in front of her. Gorgeous, buff, and wielding swords as if their lives depended on it.
She leaned around Connor to see if he was impressed as well only to find him watching with enormous eyes and still working on his thumb. Answer enough.
She wasn’t sure how much time passed before John held up his hand, then leaned over with that hand on his thigh to catch his breath. He was absolutely drenched. His brother was no less damp, so perhaps the workout had been spread around equally. She watched them exchange a few pleasantries—well, slurs, again, if her Norman French was anywhere close to accurate—laugh, then walk off the field toward her.
She prided herself on her composure, which at the moment was the only thing keeping her from embarrassing herself by either blushing or drooling.
John pushed his sweaty hair out of his eyes and smiled as he stopped in front of her. “I see you have a champion there.”
She shivered in spite of herself. Norman French.
Medieval
Norman French, which that gorgeous man standing in front of her had grown up speaking. That man who could likely just as easily participate in a tournament as hop in his Vanquish and zip up the M25.
Medieval
Norman French, which that gorgeous man standing in front of her had grown up speaking. That man who could likely just as easily participate in a tournament as hop in his Vanquish and zip up the M25.
And to think he’d been hiding it all under jeans, a sweater, and a demeanor that discouraged any and all questions about his true origins.
“I think,” Nicholas drawled, “that your stench has rendered her speechless.”
John elbowed his brother in the ribs with a good deal of enthusiasm. “Shut up,” he suggested.
Nicholas eyed him archly. “Go bathe. I’ll give your lady a tour of the lists. I would make haste were I you, though, before I convince her that life with you would be a misery.”
John looked at Tess and shook his head in disbelief. “Did I
want
to see him again?”
want
to see him again?”
She held up her hands in surrender. “I’m not going to comment. But I will wait for you.”
“I’ll hurry.”
And with that, he was trotting back toward the house. Nicholas took his toddler, swung him up to sit on his shoulders, then smiled at Tess. “English or French?” he asked politely.
“French, if you have the patience for it,” she said, rising. “I’m sorry to have taken such advantage of your guest room yesterday. I didn’t realize I’d slept that long.”
“Don’t spare thought for it,” Nicholas said dismissively. “I understand John ran you the entire way here from Chevington. I suppose he had no choice, but the distance isn’t easy. You’re justified in being weary.” He smiled at her. “I understand you have a university degree in medieval history.”
She found herself blushing. “Ridiculous, isn’t it? I’m studying what you’re living.”
“I would say the subject is the only one worthy of study, but then I would sound like my brother Robin and that would make me queasy. Instead, let’s take a turn about the keep, and I’ll keep my thoughts to myself. If anything strikes your fancy, tell me of it and we’ll discuss it.”
She smiled. “You’re very kind.”
He studied her for a moment or two. “I think I can understand what it cost you to lose Pippa, who has made my youngest brother happier than he deserves to be. Consider it a poor exchange.”
She nodded, though she found, to her horror, that it bothered her that he hadn’t said anything about John being the exchange for Pippa—if such an awful exchange could possibly be contemplated without wincing.
She wondered, accompanied by a feeling that sat in her stomach like a rock, if John would want to stay in medieval England now that he’d found his way back to it.
“You’re still weary.”
She looked up at Nicholas quickly. “That isn’t John’s fault. He did the best with what he had.”
Nicholas smiled. “I wasn’t faulting him for it; just making an observation. We’ll make this a quick trip. I think what you need is an afternoon in front of the fire.”
Yes, where she could look at John and store up a lifetime of memories of the sight of him with the firelight flickering against his dark hair and his exceptionally handsome face. Then she would then go back to the future, find all the music he’d recorded, and sit with her collection in her solar and spend the rest of her days weeping over him.
“Tess?”
She blinked rapidly and looked up at Nicholas, attempting another smile. “I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “I think I’m more tired than I thought.”
“Shall we go in?”
She shook her head. “I’m not about to pass up a chance to pry into the workings of Wyckham when I have the lord of the castle at my disposal.”
She realized she was speaking English, but the French was beyond her. Nicholas only smiled.
“I don’t know how long you’re planning on staying, but my life is an open book for you for as long as that might be. Since you have on boots, let’s start in the lists.”
Tess nodded, grateful for the distraction.
So she walked with him, trailed by his other three sons who looked just like him, and tried not to pepper him with questions. She wasn’t sure where she would have begun, because they were questions she could have asked of John without garrison knights listening and wondering why she was daft.
They made it to the stables and were admiring a horse before she hit upon the one thing she wanted to know that she hadn’t been able to find in a book. She looked up at him.
“Are you ever afraid?”
Nicholas caught his breath, then smiled faintly. “A terrible question, which you doubtless know.” He put Connor down on the floor, then studied the horse in the stall for a moment or two. “In my youth, I would have said to you nay without hesitation. I would have given my life for my family, of course, and grieved if any of them had been lost, but it wouldn’t have inspired fear. But now?” He had to take a deep breath. “I don’t think about it often, but aye, I suppose the fear is always there, waiting in the shadows. If something happened to Jennifer, or the lads—” He paused, then smiled at her. “If it eases you any, Montgomery feels that way about your sister. He is utterly besotted with her.”
“And he’ll keep her safe?”
“He is my equal,” Nicholas said simply. “As was John, but he’s gone soft, living in that land of yours with Lilt and chocolate and the saints only know what else. It wouldn’t take him long to regain what little skill he’s set aside for other things, though, if that eases you, though I’m not sure where he would use those skills.”
“Not many sword-wielding ruffians where I come from,” Tess agreed.
Nicholas shook his head slowly. “But there are other perils there that he must face that I never will.” He nodded to his left. “I suppose he could tell us of those, if he cared to.”
Tess looked to find the source of all her turmoil leaning against a post in the stable, freshly scrubbed and looking like a lord in his own right.
“Getting the tour?” he asked politely.
She nodded, putting on her best smile. “Your brother has been very kind.”
“And now he can get lost,” John said with an arch look cast that brother’s way. “I can carry on from here.”
Nicholas leaned against a stall door. “I think that perhaps instead I should offer my services as chaperon.”
“When hell freezes over,” John said with a snort. “I’m going to give Tess a riding lesson, so there won’t be any mauling of her person unless she falls off her horse.”
“Horse?” Tess echoed. She realized it had come out as more of a squeak, but it was too late to take it back.
“Every noblewoman should know how to ride,” John said, looking at her solemnly. “My lady.”
Nicholas put his hand briefly on her shoulder. “I think in this I can safely say that my brother knows what he’s about. He’s an excellent rider, and I think he has the good sense not to put you up on a horse that will fling you back into his arms. You’ll be safe enough.”
“Ah,” Tess said, “I think I’ll pass.”
“And I think you won’t,” John said easily. “Tess, you must learn to ride. You cannot be in this—ah, I mean—” He dragged his hand through his hair. “You must learn to ride,” he finished. “Nonnegotiable.”
She wanted to argue with him that everything short of death and taxes was negotiable, but she knew she didn’t have a leg to stand on—and since she would likely fall off her first horse and break both legs, maybe it was best she just get it over with. But she wasn’t about to let John think he had the upper hand.
“Maybe,” she said firmly.
Nicholas laughed and gathered up his sons. “Let’s leave them to it, lads. Hands in plain sight all the time, Johnny lad. Don’t make me take you out to the lists and beat you to a pulp because you didn’t behave yourself.”
John rolled his eyes. “Begone, my lord, whilst my tongue is still in check.”
Nicholas flicked him on the ear as he passed, then continued on with his sons looking back longingly. Tess watched them go, then looked up at John.
“This isn’t necessary—”
“It is,” he corrected. “Critical, actually.”
It occurred to her, with a startling flash that made her slightly queasy, that he might be entertaining the thought that not only did he want to stay in medieval England, he couldn’t get out of medieval England.
Which meant she couldn’t, either.
She felt her mouth go dry. “All right,” she managed.
“Trust me.”
“I do.”
He smiled, a grave, serious smile that she’d never seen him wear before, then found herself suddenly seated quite comfortably on a pile of hay while he went to put the appropriate gear on what was hopefully Wyckham’s gentlest nag.
She tried to calm her racing heart and warm her very chilly hands.
She failed.
Medieval England?
She tucked her hands under her arms and hoped they would stop shaking by the time she needed them.
Chapter 22
J
ohn
stood with his back against a tree, watching Tess look out over a panoramic vista that had been covered with snow the night before. He was profoundly grateful for a decent cloak, though he wouldn’t have argued if some fairy godmother had waved her wand and caused his Vanquish—complete with its very serviceable heater—to appear behind him. A pity he wouldn’t have been able to get inside it given that he’d left his keys, his phone, and his credit card locked safely in Nicholas’s trunk.
ohn
stood with his back against a tree, watching Tess look out over a panoramic vista that had been covered with snow the night before. He was profoundly grateful for a decent cloak, though he wouldn’t have argued if some fairy godmother had waved her wand and caused his Vanquish—complete with its very serviceable heater—to appear behind him. A pity he wouldn’t have been able to get inside it given that he’d left his keys, his phone, and his credit card locked safely in Nicholas’s trunk.
He suppressed the urge to drag his hands through his hair. He honestly couldn’t say what had been worse: leaving Artane for the first time or coming back to medieval England unexpectedly. Both had been wrenching.
Only then, he hadn’t had a certain woman he would leave behind if he chose a century she didn’t belong to.
He watched the woman in question and wondered what she was thinking. He’d actually spent quite a bit of the previous day watching her and wondering the same thing. He’d known she was sitting on the side of the lists, watching him as he trained. She had seemed a little shell-shocked, but he couldn’t blame her for it. He was quite certain he’d worn that same look for the first few fortnights after his arrival in the Future. It was to be expected.
She’d seemed very uncomfortable at first with the horse he’d put her up on until she’d realized that he truly wasn’t going to let go of the lunge line and leave her cantering off into the distance. She came by an excellent seat naturally somehow, and there had come a point where she’d actually smiled a time or two.
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