Stardust of Yesterday Read online

  A Lover from Another Age…

  She perused him in a leisurely manner. It was the first time she had ever been close to a man of his size and physique. Odd how she wasn’t in the least bit intimidated, by his proportions or his masculinity. She immediately understood why. He was a ghost, a person just a bit more tangible than her imagination but not substantial enough to be a threat. Yes, this was the kind of man she could deal with. He was arrogant and impossible, but he had a kind of teasing manner about him that was utterly charming. And he looked at her as if he actually found her appealing. Desirable was pushing things, but appealing she could believe.

  She saw Kendrick’s hand lying on the armrest, just an inch or two from her chair and found herself suddenly overcome by an utterly ridiculous idea. Would he feel it if she touched him? Would she feel him?

  Hesitantly, she put her hand over his. A tingle, like a hint of static electricity touched her. Her hand went through his to rest on the chair. She looked down, speechless. Kendrick’s hand surrounded hers, like an aura. Real, but not real. What if it had been? She leaned her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes, giving her imagination free rein. The century didn’t matter, she had Kendrick and that was the only thing important to her.

  Turn to the back of this book for

  a special sneak preview of

  The Very Thought of You

  Available in paperback

  from Berkley Books!

  Titles by Lynn Kurland

  STARDUST OF YESTERDAY FROM THIS MOMENT ON

  A DANCE THROUGH TIME A GARDEN IN THE RAIN

  THIS IS ALL I ASK DREAMS OF STARDUST

  THE VERY THOUGHT OF YOU MUCH ADO IN THE MOONLIGHT

  ANOTHER CHANCE TO DREAM WHEN I FALL IN LOVE

  THE MORE I SEE YOU WITH EVERY BREATH

  IF I HAD YOU TILL THERE WAS YOU

  MY HEART STOOD STILL ONE ENCHANTED EVENING

  The Novels of the Nine Kingdoms

  STAR OF THE MORNING

  THE MAGE’S DAUGHTER

  PRINCESS OF THE SWORD

  A TAPESTRY OF SPELLS

  Anthologies

  THE CHRISTMAS CAT

  (with Julie Beard, Barbara Bretton, and Jo Beverley)

  CHRISTMAS SPIRITS

  (with Casey Claybourne, Elizabeth Bevarly, and Jenny Lykins)

  VEILS OF TIME

  (with Maggie Shayne, Angie Ray, and Ingrid Weaver)

  OPPOSITES ATTRACT

  (with Elizabeth Bevarly. Emily Carmichael, and Elda Minger)

  LOVE CAME JUST IN TIME

  A KNIGHT’S VOW

  (with Patricia Potter, Deborah Simmons, and Glynnis Campbell)

  TAPESTRY

  (with Madeline Hunter, Sherrilyn Kenyon, and Karen Marie Moning)

  TO WEAVE A WEB OF MAGIC

  (with Patricia A. McKillip, Sharon Shinn, and Claire Delacroix)

  THE QUEEN IN WINTER

  (with Sharon Shinn, Claire Delacroix, and Sarah Monette)

  STARDUST

  OF YESTERDAY

  LYNN

  KURLAND

  BERKLEY BOOKS, NEW YORK

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are

  either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously,

  and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business

  establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  STARDUST OF YESTERDAY

  A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with

  the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Jove edition / April 1996

  Berkley edition / April 2001

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 1996 by Lynn Curland.

  Excerpt from The Very Thought of You copyright © 1997

  by Lynn Curland.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced

  in any form without permission.

  For information address:

  The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN: 978-1-101-65355-5

  BERKLEY®

  Berkley Books are published by

  The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY and the “B” design are trademarks

  belonging to Penguin Putnam Inc.

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  To Lynn R., my should-have-been-sister,

  for ten years of unfailing friendship

  To Elane, my dear friend,

  for unflagging support

  To Gail, my editor,

  for never giving up on this book, or on me!

  And to Matthew, my sweet husband and beloved friend,

  who is living proof that reality is indeed better than fiction.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Epilogue

  The Very Thought of You

  About the Author

  Prologue

  SEAKIRK KEEP, ENGLAND, 1260

  “Damn you, man!” Kendrick of Artane exclaimed. “Have you no idea who I am?”

  Matilda’s lover looked at him blandly. “I know perfectly well who you are. It hardly matters, as your illustrious father is not here to save you.”

  “He will have your head for this,” Kendrick spat, his pale green eyes blazing. “You won’t live out the year once he discovers what you’ve done.” He jerked against the chains that bound his wrists and ankles to the cold, damp wall.

  Richard shrugged. “Perhaps he’ll think wolves found you, or ruffians. The possibilities are numerous.”

  “You’ll rue this day, Richard. I’ll see to it myself.”

  Richard smiled and raised his crossbow. “I appreciate the gold you brought so discreetly to give Matilda a dowry. You’ve made me quite a wealthy man.”

  “Wait,” Kendrick said. “I want Matilda to witness this. I want to be looking at her when your arrow finds my heart.”

  Richard laughed. “Of course. She is eager to be here.” A motion of his hand sent his squire scurrying up the cellar stairs. Kendrick continued to look at Richard, unable to believe the events of the past few hours.

  Was it only yestereve that he had ridden through Seakirk’s gates with such a light heart, pleased the king had awar
ded him Seakirk and Seakirk’s lady as a bride? Was it merely yestereve that he had gazed upon Matilda, bewitched by her beauty, only to watch her expression turn to one of hatred and satisfaction once Richard of York had entered the great hall with his guards? Even though Kendrick had killed many of his attackers, he and his few companions had been hopelessly outnumbered. Now he stood, chained to the wall, awaiting certain death.

  Kendrick met Matilda’s eyes as she came down the steps, and cursed himself for his foolishness. Why had he been so blind? Surely her treacherous manner should have been plain to him: the coy way she batted her lashes, the sly way she had of twisting words and avoiding plain speech. And that smile. A shudder went through him. Her smile chilled him more fully than the stone at his back.

  He shook his head, cursing himself again. Aye, he had been a fool indeed and perhaps deserved what was coming.

  He swung his gaze back to Richard. He looked his murderer full in the face and waited, daring him to release the arrow.

  Richard did.

  Chapter One

  SAN FRANCISCO, JULY 1995

  It was good to be home. Genevieve set her suitcase on the curb, propped her portfolio against her leg and sighed in pleasure at the sight of her office. The sign had been painted to perfection, the flowers behind the windows were blooming obediently and the door was ajar, beckoning clients to enter. Yes, it looked like the kind of place a homeowner would come to with pictures of his dilapidated house, hopeful some kind of magic could be done to restore it to its former glory. And without exception, every such homeowner left satisfied. Genevieve knew her business and she had hired others who knew it just as well. Her clients were never disappointed.

  Genevieve lugged her baggage inside the front door, then laughed at the sight that greeted her. “Welcome home, Gen” was painted on a huge banner taped across her office door. She set her things down and went into her office. Flowers covered her desk, balloons hung in great bunches against the ceiling.

  “Surprise!”

  Her small staff crowded around her. A plate of cake was put into one hand and a cup of punch in the other as she was herded to her chair. Questions came at her from all sides.

  “So, did you see any stars?”

  “What did they think of the proposal?”

  “Did you bring us anything back?”

  Genevieve laughed as she looked around her. How good it was to be back among friends. On her right was Kate, who had been with her the longest and was mainly concerned about what kinds of celebrities hung out in old houses. Then there was Peter, carpenter extraordinaire, who was interested strictly in the details of each job. Angela, who held down the fort, was twenty going on ten when it came to presents. She stood on Genevieve’s left, practically salivating with anticipation. Genevieve smiled.

  “Well, as for stars, I saw only the big dipper. They loved the plans, and, Angela, your present is in my suitcase.” She took a bite of cake and looked at the three of them crowded around her desk. “Does that satisfy you?”

  “I want a better report,” Peter said, “but I can see I’ll have to wait. Angela, go get that phone. Gen, I’m going to the Murphys’ this afternoon. Don’t eat too much cake. Chocolate makes you sick.”

  “Yes, Dad,” Genevieve said, with a mock salute.

  “I’m out too,” Kate said, moving to the door. “I have things to put together for your trip to Carmel this afternoon. You remembered that, didn’t you?”

  “Right,” Genevieve said, with another salute. “Thanks for the reminder.”

  “That’s what I’m here for,” Kate said, smiling. “It’s nice to have you home. We’ll have to do a long lunch tomorrow and you can give me the scoop.”

  Genevieve nodded and then leaned back in her chair with a sigh. Life was too good to be true. After eight years of hard work, her business was booming. What more could she want?

  She looked around her office and sighed. Actually, a knight in shining armor might have been handy. Maybe he could have saved her from the mess surrounding her.

  She closed her eyes in self-defense. Despite its charm, Dreams Restored was a tiny place scrunched between other tiny shops in one of the quainter areas of San Francisco. Tiny was fine when it came to how much square footage she paid rent on, but it was a problem when it came to storing all her supplies. Her desk was piled with fabric swatches, paint sample cards and photocopies of her tax forms from 1991. The floor around her desk boasted everything from half-stripped moldings to books on medieval architecture. At the moment, it was also piled high with flowers and balloons. Everyone else’s desks were tidy. Maybe that knight should come along with a Day-Timer and some file boxes while he was at it.

  “Gen, you have a call on line two. Some attorney with a great British accent.” Angela was breathless. “Think he’s a royal?”

  So, the cavalry had arrived. Genevieve laughed at the absurdity of her previous thoughts. “I’ll let you know.”

  “Well, take the job anyway. I bet Buckingham Palace has great souvenirs.”

  Genevieve picked up the phone. “This is Genevieve Buchanan.”

  A man cleared his throat. “Ah, Miss Buchanan, my name is Bryan McShane. I represent the firm of Maledica, Smythe and deLipkau, based in London. I am in San Francisco this week and I wondered when it would be convenient for me to drop by. I have a legal matter to discuss with you.”

  “A legal matter?” she echoed. Who in the world would want to sue her? And for what? For leaving them with uneven floorboards in the kitchen or stenciling that wasn’t quite up to snuff? She was certainly as human as the next person but she considered herself a far sight more meticulous. She took her restoration work very seriously.

  “About an inheritance,” the man replied. He lowered his voice, as if he were afraid others were listening in on the conversation. “This is a matter that needs to be discussed in person, Miss Buchanan. Are you free this afternoon?”

  “Mr. McShane,” she said, slowly, “I think you have the wrong person. I’m an only child and my parents were only children. They have both passed on and I have no other relatives.”

  “Miss Buchanan, I assure you that you do have an inheritance and it is quite substantial. You are the last living direct descendant of Matilda of Seakirk. Rodney, the last earl of Seakirk, passed away recently and I have been sent to inform you of what awaits you.”

  “Who? Are you certain?”

  “The earl of Seakirk. And yes, I’m quite certain. My research in that area has been meticulous. When would it be convenient for you to meet and discuss this?”

  Genevieve shook her head. “But there must be thousands of Matilda’s descendants—”

  “Regrettably, all others have either passed on or are otherwise unable to claim the inheritance.”

  “Otherwise unable?”

  Mr. McShane was silent for a long moment. “Insanity seems to run rampant in the family, Miss Buchanan.”

  Genevieve was sorely tempted, despite that last little morsel to make her think twice about having anything to do with her ancestors. Unfortunately, reality had other plans for her that afternoon. She’d promised the Campbells she would take a look at their property in Carmel. She cradled the phone between her shoulder and ear as she set to work on a jumbled pile of paperwork.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. McShane,” she sighed, “but this afternoon is impossible. Is there something you could mail me and let me look over?”

  “I fear I was specifically instructed to speak to you about this in person. Perhaps later in the week?”

  The man was persistent, she would give him that. And despite her doubts, she was intrigued. The thought of inheriting some bauble from an ancestor of noble blood set her mind working furiously. What could it be? And the history behind it? What if it were an ancient treasure?

  “Perhaps over dinner?” Mr. McShane prompted.

  “Dinner would be fine,” she heard herself saying. Well, she could make it back for a late supper. She gave Mr. McShane the name of a re
staurant downtown and hung up the phone.

  Maybe it was some gaudy dinner ring. The meager contents of her safety deposit box could use some company. She would sign the papers, claim her prize, and that would be that.

  The restaurant noises around her seemed magnified far beyond what they should have been. She heard silverware clanking against china, the sound of liquid being poured into glasses, people chewing, swallowing, burping discreetly. She noticed the redness of Bryan McShane’s watery blue eyes, the pinched lines of strain around his mouth, the unfortunate lack of hair on top of his head. And, most notably, the way his hands fluttered over his silverware and around the crystal stem of his wineglass like little butterflies, too timid to land on something that might suddenly come to life and have them for a snack. And this new awareness was all due to the shock she felt over his announcement.

  “A castle?” she repeated in a strangled voice.

  “A castle,” he nodded, his hand fluttering up to pull at the knot of his tie. “Seakirk once boasted a nunnery and one of the finest halls on the coast of what is now Northumberland. The abbey is in ruins, but the keep is in almost perfect condition. It merely awaits your loving touch.”

  Genevieve moistened her lips, realized it was a futile gesture, then downed the contents of her water glass in two gulps. A castle? No, she was dreaming. Things like this didn’t happen in real life.

  “You’re kidding, right?” she managed.

  Mr. McShane shook his head. “The castle is yours, Miss Buchanan. All you need to do to claim it is live there.”

  Genevieve ruthlessly squelched the exuberance that flooded her. She put her hands on the table and pushed her chair back a bit, shaking her head.

  “I couldn’t,” she said, shaking her head again just in case her words hadn’t sounded convincing enough.

  “Please don’t be hasty,” Mr. McShane said quickly. “By all means, take a few days and consider it. Did I mention that along with the castle, you have inherited a blank cheque?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Mr. McShane pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped off the fog that had suddenly accumulated on his glasses. “Miss Buchanan, the bank account that awaits you is so large, I doubt you could spend a tenth of it in your lifetime. In essence, you have free rein with more funds than you can imagine, to use any way you want. Perhaps in the refurbishment of your castle.” He deposited his glasses back onto his nose and peered at her intently, waiting.