All for You (21 page)

An entirely more favorable light.

She wondered absently if he were changing himself to suit the times, or if the man currently on display was who he was all
the time. Maybe he was forced to hide everything he really was under tweed and proper manners.

“Warm enough for the moment?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Yes, thank you.”

He patted her arm that was around his waist, then concentrated on getting them wherever it was he was taking them. She didn’t dare ask.

She was simply glad it had been Stephen to come rescue her.

S
tephen
watched a lad trot off into the distance on the horse he himself had pilfered the day before. It wasn’t that he particularly wanted to walk any farther, it was that he thought it best to leave that lord of Kenneworth no reason to pursue them any longer. If nothing else, perhaps the return of the horse would distract those with less than altruistic thoughts of murder and mayhem.

Because the unfortunate truth was, they were only a dozen miles from Kenneworth House as it stood in either century and that was certainly close enough to be overtaken. Stephen hadn’t minded exercising a few of his hard-won sword skills, but he hadn’t had to kill anyone and preferred to keep it that way.

Though if it came down to the choice between the life of a medieval inhabitant of any station and Peaches, he knew the choice he would make.

That had surprised him, that rush that went through him at the thought of anyone harming her. He had to admit that he had watched the medieval expats in his family on the occasions that presented themselves, just to see how they were dealing with the modern world. In all the men, he had sensed an undercurrent
that he hadn’t understood at the time, but he most definitely understood now. Even though the skirmish that morning had lasted only half an hour at best, he knew he would never be the same again.

“Where now?”

He looked at Peaches standing in front of him, swathed in his coat, and wearing his slippers, shivering as if she were standing there in short sleeves. He honestly wasn’t sure she wouldn’t find herself with pneumonia in the end once they returned home.

If they could return home.

He realized as he stood there under a tree and shivered right along with her that he had gravely miscalculated the simple perils of the time period. He had intended, in spite of Zachary’s warnings to the contrary, to simply go back, fetch Peaches, and be home within the hour. He’d shoved apples in his pockets, but nothing more substantial, and he hadn’t prepared either of them for the weather. That didn’t begin to address the fact that she looked like a princess and he looked like a Regency gentleman, which wasn’t precisely current-day dress.

He was, he had to admit to himself, rather an idiot.

And the only other thing that he would tell anyone who would listen was never to have anything to do with Kenneworth or its environs. The gate had been stubborn when he’d tried to come through it and completely unresponsive when he’d tried to get himself and Peaches back to their proper time and place. Add that to the ridiculous lack of proper weaponry inside the hall itself, and it was no wonder none of the de Piagets had wanted anything to do with anyone of their ilk. The sheer frustration of navigating all of the craziness to be found there was enough to keep him away in the future.

He wondered if Peaches possibly felt the same way.

“Stephen?”

He smiled reflexively at the sound of his name from her before he managed to school his features into something less delighted-looking. “Yes?”

“You were saying?”

He pulled himself back to their present dilemma. The gate at Kenneworth hadn’t worked, and the other rather close but reputedly fickle portal—again, close enough to Kenneworth that their influence was obviously being felt—had been likewise unresponsive
to their pleas. That had left Stephen with no choice but to look farther afield, which was why he was where he hoped he was, namely within a quarter mile of a third possibility. Finding an inn in the area had been nothing short of a miracle.

“I believe there’s an inn over there,” he said, nodding in that direction. “I think we should take our chances with supper, then spend a few minutes in front of the fire before we make another attempt.”

She nodded numbly, which he couldn’t blame her for. He took her hand without thinking, then realized he didn’t particularly want to let her go. She didn’t seem completely opposed to the action, though, so he didn’t make any mention of it. They were both under a fair bit of duress, so perhaps it was just the situation throwing them together that resulted in closeness.

Or it could have been that he was ruthlessly and without remorse taking advantage of the fact that she was too distracted to realize what he was doing. He was more than happy to hold her hand while she was otherwise distracted.

It was only as he was standing in front of the bar, getting ready to get them a meal, that he realized there was something standing in the way of feeding his lady and that something happened to be the fact that he had no funds.

He was, he would readily admit, not exactly at his best at the moment.

He was just putting his brain in gear to try to come up with some way to actually pay for food—and not curse himself for not having thought to bring anything to use in bartering—when his elbow was bumped.

“No need to pay,” said a lad who was quite suddenly at his side. “Them young lords by the fire gave me coin for ’im and ’is lady. Meals and drinks.”

Stephen wasn’t sure what current-day protocol demanded, but he supposed a very brief thanks wasn’t out of order. He could only hope he could manage it intelligently.

He nodded to the innkeeper, then walked over to where two men were sitting at a table closest to the fire. Stephen studied them as he walked, wishing he had spent a bit more time ignoring his professors during college and more time listening to the damned ghosts in his father’s hall to determine what an authentic medieval Norman French accent should sound like.

He decided as he paused and inclined his head slightly that he was going to have to take Kendrick de Piaget out for a
very
expensive dinner the first chance he had. That he had even a slim hope of not sounding like a complete foreigner was only thanks to his uncle’s mocking him endlessly in the garden about his French.

One of the men rose and held out a chair for Peaches, who hesitated, then shuffled over to sit in it. Stephen sat as well and tried to initiate a bit of polite conversation.

Their new friends didn’t seem inclined to do anything but attend to their suppers.

Stephen examined his meal in a purely academic way, then decided that was unwise. He wasn’t sure what they were about to eat, and he could only hope what they would wash it down with wouldn’t kill them both. Their companions seemed to find nothing amiss with their suppers. They ate with enthusiasm, though they seemed to be careful to keep their faces hidden by the hoods of their cloaks. Stephen looked at Peaches, who only shrugged at him helplessly.

He cleared his throat, gearing up to broach some sort of innocuous topic, when one of the men banged his cup down on the table and whispered something to his companion. With a
good e’en to you both
, the two stood up and beat a hasty retreat through what Stephen could only assume were the kitchens. He might have been curious enough at another time to ask one of the other patrons what all the fuss had been about, but given his current time and place, he supposed it was just best to keep his mouth shut. He moved wooden trenchers and cups aside, wondering absently if anyone would notice if he simply poached a pair for his office, then took the seat next to Peaches.

“That was interesting,” he murmured.

“I don’t think we’re through with interesting,” Peaches managed. She slid a sheaf of paper toward him. “They left this behind. On purpose, I think.”

He took it, unfolded it, then came close to dropping it in his surprise.

It was a map.

The inn was marked, then a trail leading to an X Zachary hadn’t mentioned. Stephen hardly dared hope that X would lead him back to where he wanted to go, but he couldn’t deny the sight of it was unusual. He looked at Peaches.

“What do you think?”

“They left us a small bag of coins as well,” she said. “I think they knew us.”

Stephen was about to make what he was sure would have been a pithy comment about his family connections stretching across the centuries, but he was interrupted by the arrival of someone inside the common room who skidded to a halt. Stephen couldn’t see his face for the hood of his cloak, but it was quite obvious he was staring at them. For all he knew, it was someone from Kenneworth. He felt for Peaches’s hand under the table.

“Can you flee?”

“Definitely,” she said, sounding as nervous as he felt.

He waited until the man had turned aside to speak to the innkeeper before he pulled Peaches up with him and headed out the back door, tossing the bouncer there one of the coins that Peaches pressed into his hand. That pained him to give it up, but he hadn’t had any choice. If giving up a potentially mint-condition medieval artifact meant the difference between freedom and death, he would choose the former.

They didn’t make it as far as he would have liked. In fact, they didn’t even make it to the stables where he would most certainly have poached the first semi-sound horse he could have and galloped off on it. The whisper of steel coming from a sheath behind him had him cursing fluently. He pushed Peaches in front of him, then turned, drawing the knife Patrick MacLeod had trained him never to be without from his boot as he did so.

His opponent looked at him, looked at his knife, then propped his sword up against his shoulder. “Surely you jest.”

Stephen rapidly considered his options. He could throw his blade through his enemy’s heart and flee. He could say nothing and do his best with a knife that was, at close range, completely inadequate to battling what he could see was a well-loved and very well-used sword. Or he could bluster.

He scratched his cheek with the hilt of his knife—the only part of the blade that wasn’t honed to perilous sharpness. “I lost my sword this morning. One makes do when one must, don’t you agree?”

The other man laughed, a sound that would have been reassuring at another time, but this was a time that was far from
Stephen’s own and he wasn’t reassured by anything at the moment. And then his foe pushed his hood back off his face.

Stephen felt his mouth fall open. Peaches gasped audibly.

The other man only lifted an eyebrow and looked at them both steadily. “Out for a stroll, are we?”

Stephen revised his idea to take Kendrick to supper and substituted instead a weekend away for Kendrick and his bride whilst he tended their children. That he could understand anything at all was certainly due to his uncle’s help.

“Well,” Stephen managed, “it seemed like a decent afternoon for it.”

His opponent, a blond, rather older version of he himself, resheathed his sword. “I’m not sure your lady shares your enthusiasm. Perhaps I should help you get home before she freezes to death.”

Stephen slipped the knife back down the side of his boot but didn’t take his eyes off the man in front of him. “That is an interesting offer, my lord.”

“Wyckham,” the other man said casually. “Nicholas of Wyckham.”

Stephen wasn’t surprised. His uncle, several generations removed, of course.

“Who are you?” Nicholas of Wyckham asked politely.

“Stephen,” Stephen said. “The Viscount Haulton, if you like.”

“And Baron Etham,” Peaches supplied, her teeth chattering. “If you want to be completely accurate.”

Nicholas of Wyckham smiled at her. “Accuracy, Mistress Alexander, is always my most pressing concern.” He tilted his head and studied her. “I am assuming you are who I think you are, unless you are my brother John’s daughter and not his sister-in-law. I should think not, but it has been at least a score of years since I last saw the lady Tess at my hall.” He shrugged. “Whoever you are, you gave me a bit of a start.”

“I’m Peaches,” she managed. “Tess’s sister.”

Nicholas nodded. “So you are.”

Stephen had his arm around Peaches’s shoulders, so he felt clearly the shiver that went through her. He looked at Nicholas in surprise. “But she and John were just at your hall last month.”

“Were they?” Nicholas asked in surprise. He frowned at Stephen.
“Something very strange is going on with the strands of time. How did you get here?”

“Through a gate at Kenneworth,” Stephen admitted.

“Well, that explains it,” Nicholas said with a snort. “They’re far enough away that they don’t vex me overmuch, but I can say with certainty that I’ve no love for any of their ilk. And their hall is no better than a kennel. I’m not surprised things went awry for you.”

Stephen wasn’t, either, but he saw no point in saying as much.

“I am here to meet two of my sons,” Nicholas continued, “but they are notoriously late. I think we have a few moments for speech, but I’m not sure where would be the safest place. Let’s try the stables, shall we?” He offered Peaches his arm. “How has your sister found the trial of being wed to my brother so far?”

“She’s very happy,” Peaches said with a smile.

“Remind him I vowed to come see to him if that ceases to be the case.” He looked over his shoulder at Stephen. “Coming, Haulton?”

Stephen nodded and followed him.

Within minutes, he and Peaches were sitting on a pile of hay in a relatively warm part of the stable. Peaches hadn’t argued with the blanket put over her legs and tucked under her feet, nor did she seem disinclined to put on the boots Nicholas purchased for her from an enterprising stable lad to take the place of Stephen’s sodden bedroom slippers. Stephen put the boots on her feet, then sat down next to her and looked at his … He took a deep breath. His uncle, as it happened.

“Haulton is a lovely place,” Nicholas remarked casually, rubbing his hands together and blowing on them. “One of my father’s favorite estates, as it happens. Before he passed, my father insisted that Haulton always remain with the heir. Perhaps on the off chance that the heir tired of the family seat.”