Dreams of Stardust Page 5

  Well, it might be enough of a mystery that getting himself to Artane would be worth the solving of it.

  It was very late the next morning when he gripped the steering wheel of his recently liberated Jag in much the same way he had the night before, only it was a headache now that left him clinging to stability, not the condition of the road.

  He'd had a terrible night's sleep, with dreams full of things he hadn't understood, and noises he hadn't been able to recognize. It had been a heavy sleep as well, heavy enough that he hadn't been able to rouse himself from it until late in the morning.

  He'd descended to find his car, squeaky clean and in perfect working order, waiting for him in the courtyard. Worthington had provided an ample breakfast, but Jake hadn't done it justice. All he'd wanted to do was get out of that ghost-infested, dream-disturbing keep and to Megan de Piaget's comfortable inn where he could crash for the rest of the day before attempting the trip to Artane.

  He almost ran into the Range Rover before he saw it. He cursed the driver and continued on his way, cursing himself as well. He wasn't in the habit of complaining, but his head was killing him. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open against the glare of the sun.

  And then, quite suddenly, the sun was less of a glare than a blinding flash.

  And then he felt himself beginning to spin. It all happened so fast that the only thing that was clear to him was that he was going to die.

  Oh, and that his car was going to be completely totalled.

  The spinning, rolling, flying sensation took forever. In fact, it went on much longer than it should have. He decided that he really was going to die when the spinning stopped and the ground came up to meet him. Hard.

  And then he knew no more.

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  Genevieve de Piaget grabbed at the dashboard of the Range Rover and gasped. "Kendrick, look where you're going!"

  Her husband was busy staring back at a black Jaguar that had just passed them along the soggy track that the spring zephyr had left behind. It was a nice Jag, even she had to admit. One could not be married to Kendrick de Piaget for any length of time and not have come to some slight appreciation of a finely made car.

  But when such appreciation left her distractable spouse almost plowing her and her six children into a stone wall, she had to draw the line.

  "Forgive me, my love," Kendrick said, flashing her a smile and putting the car back onto the road.

  "That was a nice '67," she remarked casually.

  "Aye, it was indeed," he agreed, not sounding nearly as impressed as he should have been by her correctly identifying the black rocket they'd just passed. "I wonder if that man had been at the keep."

  "Well, we'll know soon. Maybe he stopped by to visit."

  "Perhaps," Kendrick agreed, but he didn't sound convinced.

  "I think, Gen, that I'll drop you and the wee ones off and do a little hunting, if you don't mind."

  "Really?" she asked, surprised. "Is something wrong?"

  He shook his head. "Not at all. I just have an odd feeling. I'm never one to ignore odd feelings, you know."

  "Dad, I want to come," Phillip said from the very back of the car.

  "Me too," came the chorus from Robin and Jason, followed closely by an echo from five-year-old Richard and three-year-old Christopher.

  The baby, sweet Adelaide, only cooed happily.

  "Nay, lads," Kendrick said, "you'll help your mother. I'll return straightway and we'll repair to the lists. Nothing like a bit of tramping about in the mud to really make a man feel as though he's done a fine day's work, aye?"

  Apparently the consolation prize was enough, though Genevieve suspected Kendrick wouldn't make it without at least one lad in tow.

  She found herself deposited with most of her children inside the front door, watched a quick game of rock/paper/scissors to determine who would ride shotgun with his father on the adventure, then prepared for the unenviable task of unpacking from their trip.

  It didn't take all that long to at least have things back in the rooms where they would need to be put away eventually. Genevieve was soon sitting with her baby girl in the rocker near the roaring fire Worthington had prepared in the great hall. Genevieve sat and nursed her baby with her toes happily warming against the blaze. She loved to nurse, mostly because it forced her to sit and be still, which was at times quite difficult with five rambunctious boys to ride herd on. She stared into the fire and gave herself a moment or two to contemplate the twists and turns her life had taken. Who would have thought that eight years ago when she was broke, without job or home, and only the lifeline of an inherited castle in England to hang on to, that she would one day be happily ensconced in that castle with a wonderful man and a beautiful family?

  Kendrick had spent the last eight years being a father, running his estate, and training up his lads to follow after him.

  He'd written a book or two on medieval weaponry and tactics of war that had found their way onto scholarly bookshelves. But she knew that he secretly longed for more.

  He wanted to go back home.

  Why he hadn't, she didn't know. Perhaps it was complicated. Perhaps he was afraid to go to Artane, where he'd grown up, and find it so changed that it would break his heart.

  After all, several years had passed between his youth and his current state of mid-life.

  Perhaps he wasn't quite sure how to introduce himself to Artane's current lord.

  She couldn't say. But she did have the feeling he was ready to do something about it now. He'd puttered, he'd made money, he'd spent countless hours with his family, but there was something missing. They'd driven by Artane several times—on the A1, actually, where they could see Artane in the far distance—but they'd never gotten close enough for Genevieve to have any idea what the place truly looked like outside of the pictures she'd seen.

  The front door opened and shut. Kendrick and Phillip came in and Phillip went immediately to the kitchen to see what was in the fridge. Genevieve looked up and smiled as Kendrick cast himself down in the chair opposite her.

  "Find what you were looking for?" she asked.

  He sighed. "I need to call the authorities, though I imagine I won't be the first one to do it."

  Genevieve looked at him in surprise. "What happened?"

  "The Jag rolled and burst into flames."

  "Rolled," she said, stunned. "Here? Near here?"

  "Keeney's field," he said. "It looks as if the driver took the curve too fast and rolled down the embankment."

  "Oh, Kendrick!" she exclaimed. "How horrible."

  "Aye," he said, looking into the fire thoughtfully. "I didn't see any body, though. Not thrown from the car, not burning up in the car, not screaming for aid." He chewed on his words for a minute or two before he looked at her. "There was a flash. I saw it from a great distance."

  "And what do you think that means?"

  "I daresay I don't know," he said with a half smile. "I'm speculating."

  "You don't look nearly as worried as you should," she chided.

  He stretched and smiled. "I've lived too long to be worried. Besides, we live in a very odd part of the country. There are all manner of peculiar happenings hereabout."

  "Don't I know it," she muttered.

  He laughed and rose before he leaned over and kissed her briefly. "I'll notify the bobbies and see to the lads. Enjoy your time with your wee one. She's growing too quickly."

  "She looks like your mother already."

  "A happy combination of you and my dam. What a beautiful lass she will be."

  She watched him walk off toward the kitchen and was unsurprised to find him surrounded by a pair of men who hadn't been there but a heartbeat before. It was nothing new, that ghostly garrison. She had her own little collection of men who seemed to think that letting her poke her nose outside the hall door without them in attendance was tantamount to a national emergency. She'd grown used to it and, worse yet, her children had gro
wn used to it. Even her sons' friends had grown used to it, which did nothing to dispel those pesky paranormal rumors that swirled around Seakirk like a mist that wouldn't dispel no matter the amount of sunshine.

  She spared Kendrick one last look before she turned back to her baby. Whatever he was up to, he would tell her in time. For now, she would concentrate on the sweet little girl in her arms and let the other inhabitants of the keep take care of everything else.

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  Amanda stood at the entrance to the great hall and chafed. She chafed at being confined to the hall by virtue of the press at the doorway. She chafed at the delay that Robin was placing upon her by not leaving when he said he would. And she chafed at the seams of John's best tunic as it rubbed her raw under her gown.

  Damnation, but she should have chosen one of his older, more comfortable tunics instead of the cleanest, one which was obviously only clean because it had never been worn.

  She waited impatiently as Robin's company made their way with exquisite slowness down the stairs and onto the horses. Robin was coming and going to and from the great hall in his usual fashion of not knowing any direction save up and down. She wondered how it was he managed such a reputation for ruthlessness when he could scarce find his way to the stables.

  He scowled at her as he passed. "I do not like this."

  "Like what?" she asked politely.

  He made a noise of impatience at her and continued his fruitless search for meaning and organization. Amanda stood to the side and watched the goings on, trying to be as patient as her own impatient nature would allow. Her sister-in-law was standing by her horse, swaying. Amanda didn't envy her the journey to Fenwyck not only for the distance but because Anne was still quite ill from her coming child. The only reason they were traveling in such haste was that she had ceased heaving for more than a single day. Poor woman. First the torture of having to endure Robin as her husband, then the misery of carrying his child.

  Not that Amanda had anything but fond feelings for Robin's progeny. His first son was possibly the most perfect lad ever created.

  Anne's doing, obviously.

  Amanda jumped as she found her brother standing in front of her.

  "I wish you wouldn't do that," she groused. "Always popping up where you aren't expected…"

  "I don't like this," he said, for what was surely the dozenth time that morning. "I wish Nick were here."

  "He'll return soon," Amanda said confidently. "I'm sure of it."

  "And I'm not. I know Wyckham's condition, as do you. He'll be there all summer, doing work he could easily employ stone masons to do for him."

  "No one does it as perfectly as he can."

  Robin cursed. "So he tells me, but that doesn't aid me now. What am I to do? I need to go now, but I cannot leave you here alone."

  "I'm not alone," she said. It would have been far easier if she were. "Besides," she added, wishing she could just give Robin a good shove toward his horse without seeming overanxious to see the back of him, "Miles should be home soon."

  "Miles is a child."

  "He's ten-and-eight, and hardly a child. Think on yourself at that age. Were you not formidable?" Flattery might work. Indeed, she had never known a time when flattery hadn't served her where Robin was concerned.

  "I was formidable at five," Robin snapped, "and Miles is still a lad."

  "I have guardsmen aplenty," she said, suppressing the urge to scratch viciously at the chafing of John's finest tunic. "I will be fine."

  "Stay inside the hall."

  "I'll be fine."

  "Stay inside the hall," he repeated, enunciating each word slowly and quite carefully. "I'll have your word."

  "What if the hall catches afire?" she asked sweetly. "Am I to remain inside then? Besides, think on all my recently acquired skills. I will be well protected. Indeed, 'tis almost as if you were here defending me."

  He scowled.

  She smiled her most innocent and accommodating smile.

  He heaved a great sigh and loped down the stairs. And just when she thought she might be able to breathe and manage a discreet scratch, he turned and fixed her with a steely gaze.

  "Watch your back," he said seriously. "And don't go outside the gates. I vow, Amanda, you've truly no idea of your worth, and I speak of more than your dowry."

  And then he smiled at her, the charming smile he reserved for his wife, their mother, and others whom he truly loved.

  Damn him. She had vowed that she simply would not weep. Not when she planned, not when she prepared, and certainly not when she left. Somehow she was unsurprised that it was Robin who caused her to do so now. She would be glad never to see him again. He was, without a doubt, the worst brother ever spawned, full of irritating habits and undesirable characteristics that she would be overjoyed never to be subjected to again.

  "Go," she said, in a choked voice, blinking furiously. "Go whilst your bride retains her meal where it should reside. I will be quite safe on my own until you return."

  He gave her one last, searching look, then turned and tramped down the remaining few steps. Amanda watched him quite solicitously help his wife into her saddle, give his men his final orders, then mount up himself. She forced herself to wave to him and Anne cheerfully when in reality her own gorge was easily as close to the surface as Anne's had to have been.

  She would never see Robin again. She could scarce believe her… her good fortune, of course.

  She waited until Robin had exited the gates before she put her plan into action. A quick look back inside the hall revealed Montgomery and John at the high table, as usual, haunting it in hopes of finding something useful left behind. They had already said their good-byes to Robin and were presently arguing over who should be in charge in his absence. They wouldn't miss her for a good hour.

  Ample time to be on her way.

  She took a deep breath, faced her fate, and walked swiftly down the stairs. The time for tears was past. She'd left missives for each of her family members, explaining what she was doing and vowing to let them know when she found her future. She'd wept all the tears she had to weep. Now all that was left was to be about her plan.

  The chapel was her destination and she gained it without trouble. No one had questioned her early morning visit there with the large bundle under her arm, nor did they stop her now as she made her way there with empty hands. After all, piety was a virtue to be prized in a woman her age, one so well into her dotage that only many prayers would rescue her from her unwedded state.

  She slipped inside the door, made certain she was alone, then quickly stripped off her gown. She rolled it into a bundle and stashed it in the saddlebag she had hidden behind a saint's shrine for just this occasion. She checked to see that her knife was in her boot, tucked her braid into her tunic, and donned a cloak with a hood she pulled close round her face. With that, she left her family's chapel for the last time.

  She made herself continue over the threshold, despite the almost overwhelming temptation to stop and have a final look. It was only a building. Besides, she wouldn't miss the cold floors on winter mornings.

  But she would miss the warmth of her family gathered there with her.

  "Damnation," she said, digging the palms of her hands into her eyes angrily. She would never achieve her goal if she continued to stand about and blubber like a silly maid. She had things to do, new cities to visit, guileless men to meet.

  All of it locked safely in her future.

  She slipped down the step to the courtyard floor then made her way quickly to the stable. She walked inside as if she had business there. It was only when she began to saddle Jasper, her father's most uncontrollable horse, that things began to go awry.

  "Oy, what ye doin'?" demanded a stable lad. "Don't suppose ye should be in here, should ye?"

  Amanda turned and looked at him.

  He gaped at her, then seemed to find himself unable to decide if he should shout for aid or bob and scrape. Am
anda took his hand, slapped a gold sovereign into it, closed his fingers around it, and continued saddling her horse. The lad made many noises, as if he truly strove to find something useful to say.

  Amanda led the stallion out of the stable, leaving the boy babbling behind her. The stable master was nowhere to be found, likely only because Robin had driven the poor man to the cellars for something to shore up his strength. Amanda spared her brother a kind thought, swung up into the saddle, and rode out the inner barbican gate. Men stared at her, she could tell, but no one gainsaid her.

  She wasn't sure if she should be relieved by that or troubled. Perhaps her disguise was better than she thought.

  Or perhaps Robin had men lying in wait for her to exit the gates so he could lock her in the solar until Nicholas returned.

  She rode toward the outer gates cautiously indeed.

  But Robin was not loitering outside them, so she proceeded, unmolested. She made her way through the village and far enough out into the countryside that a turning had to be made.

  North it would be until she was past keeps where she might be recognized. Then she would turn south and travel to London. She put her heels to Jasper's side and he sprang forward as if he'd been bred for just that moment in time. She laughed in spite of herself. She might be leaving her family, but at least for the moment, she was reveling in speed.

  Perhaps that joy would last.

  Then again, perhaps not.

  A shout went up behind her, very far off and very faint. She looked back over her shoulder. Damnation! She dug her heels into her mount's side. He needed little encouragement to turn his simple run into an all-out gallop. The faint cries of anger behind her turned into shouts of alarm, but she ignored them. She could manage the horse and she could manage her fate. She needed no aid in either.

  And she would be damned if her future was to be interfered with by two young lads with too much chivalry and too little sense.