Clandestine (25 page)

A long breath hissed from Marc.

Kit continued. “The house and property are only a secondary concern, I suppose. I need my brother, Marc. Without him, I have no one.”

What about me?
The thought whispered treacherously through Marc’s mind.
You would still have me.

But he knew that wasn’t what she meant. And she wouldn’t have him. Not here.

So did she know about the portal and blackmail?

Marc’s heart hammered in his chest. What should he do?

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her. But . . .

Should he?

“Your turn again,” Kit said. “Where were you exactly before coming here? What is
your
family background?”

She threw the question back at him, her tone nearly taunting.

Was this the moment? Would he actually tell her?

He formed the words in his head.
Well, Kit, I was actually a martial arts actor working in 2014. Yes, I know, 2014 is two hundred years from now, which explains a lot of my current problem . . .

He chuckled, a mirthless little sound. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“I just want the truth, Marc.”

He snorted. “You can’t handle the truth.”

Quoting from
A Few Good Men
never hurt.

Now it was Kit’s turn to snort, shaking her head. “Please, just stop. You mock my pain.”

Marc smiled. If she thought unwittingly quoting
The Princess Bride
in return would help this situation, she was sorely mistaken.

“Life is pain, my lady. Anyone who says differently is selling something.”

He couldn’t resist, heaven help him. He stared intently at the road ahead of him, guiding the horse, debating what to say next. Should he tell her about the portal?

And then he realized Kit was staring at him with stunned eyes.

Extremely wide, wide, wide, I’m-trying-not-to-freak-out eyes.

“As you wish,” she whispered.

Marc would forever remember the sizzling shock of that moment. The jolt that pulsed his spine. The startled ringing in his ears.

What?!

What had she just said?!

Impossible!

It was utterly impossible.

But, when he thought about it, it suddenly seemed very, very possible indeed.

He stared at her, his eyes surely as wide as hers.

“Life is like a box of chocolates . . .” He swallowed, his throat tight.

Sheer surprise reverting him to his American accent.

“. . . you never know what you're gonna get.” Kit finished, a shaking hand flying to cover her mouth. Tears filled her enormous brown eyes.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No way.”

Marc shook his head too. Blinked. Looked ahead at the road, trying to process what had just happened.

And then turned back to Kit, who was still gaping at him.

“Inconceivable.” A small wondrous smile touched her lips.

Marc matched her look, a slap-silly grin sliding across his face.

He felt . . . punch-drunk. Staggered by an unexpected blow to the head.

But . . . how?!

Though, really, he should actually
voice
that question.

“How?!”

Kit shook her head, her face still stunned.

“Daniel,” she said, her voice breaking. “It was all Daniel.”

“But . . . but how could you not know? About me, I mean?” His native accent still on full display.

“Wait! You’re American?”

“Yeah, baby. You better believe it.”

Kit laughed. “That was ridiculous.”

Marc winked. “Red, white and blue—through and through.”

“Are you done?”

“Maybe.” And then another thought struck him. “I took
Lord Vader
as my alias. Lord Vader! How could that not have, at least, made you curious?!”

“I was already living with a Jed I. Knight!” Kit gestured wildly. “I just assumed the universe had a super sick sense of humor.” And then she paused, eyes stricken. “Wait, Jedediah isn’t from—”

“Uh, no.” Marc shuddered. “Wow! That’s a ghastly thought.”

“But surely someone else—”

“Arthur knows.”

“Okay.” Kit absorbed that for a moment. “And Arthur is genuinely from this era?”

“Yes.”

She thought more, a frown creasing her forehead.

“I can barely process this.”

“That makes two of us.” Marc shook his head.

“Why are you—” she said.

“So, how—” he said, at the same time. Their voices tangling with each other.

Kit laughed, that rich laugh of hers.

Marc stared at her, his heart thumping wildly.

She was still the same Kit: tall, saucy, clever, funny.

But now, he could clearly see the modern woman in her. In her confidence, her assured sense of self.

“So, what year were you born?”

She swallowed. “I was born in 1984 in Gloucester. And you?”

“Denver in 1982.”

“Denver? I’ve never been to Denver. I’m more of a coastal American visitor: New York, Miami, San Francisco.”

“Well, I suppose I should fess up. I’m not entirely American. My dad is British, and I lived with my ridiculously proper British grandmother most summers growing up. She insisted on elocution lessons as well. Couldn’t stand my broad, drawling accent.”

They stared again, Marc’s eyes wide with wonder. Two hundred years worth of barriers crumbling before him.

What had seemed
impossible
just minutes before was now suddenly very possible—

He wasn’t sure if he were massively relieved or incredibly terrified.

Probably a little of both.

Kit tucked her hand through his arm and scooted close to his side, delightfully possessive.

“I’ve always wanted an American boyfriend.” She slid him a flirty look.

It was Marc’s turn to chuckle.

“Hey you,” he said.

“Hey.” She nudged his shoulder.

His eyes flitted down to her mouth.

So
that
was why she was such a good kisser.

And then, for the second time in as many weeks, a shot rang out, the bullet zinging over the head of their horse.

Startling the poor thing into a panicked run.

Chapter 16

W
hat the—?!”

The sudden bolt of the horse tore the reins from Marc’s hands. He grabbed for them, catching the leathers just in time.

Marc pulled backward, trying to calm the runaway horse without much luck. Poor thing. It lead a simple humdrum life, never looking for excitement . . . only to be shot at twice in just as many weeks. The road ran straight for a while, thank goodness, so Marc wasn’t too concerned. But the gig jolted alarmingly down the rutted road.

At his side, Kit clutched the carriage frame as they bounced along.

Abruptly, the loud jingle of horse tack announced they weren’t alone.

“Take the reins.” Marc shoved the leather straps into Kit’s hands. She hesitated for a fraction of a second and then, with a determined lift of her chin, took the reins.

That was his spunky girl.

Carefully, Marc poked his head around the side of the gig hood. A larger carriage with the top down pulled by a pair of matched bays thundered behind them. The carriage was full of three . . . no,
four
burley men, some brandishing rifles.

Linwood rode beside the carriage on a sleek, black horse. A pistol in his hand.

Of course. So predictable, it was nearly comical. What had Daniel taken that had the viscount in such a snit?

“It’s Linwood,” Marc said turning back to Kit. “He’s got a carriage full of thugs. Some with guns.”

Kit swore, causing Marc to laugh.

“This is hardly a laughing matter.” She gritted her teeth, allowing the horse its head.

“True. But hearing a polite nineteenth century lady swear like a sailor just sorta made my day.”

Kit rolled her eyes without taking them off the road ahead. “Are you always so dorky?”

“Naturally. It’s part of my never-ending charm.”

Moving the reins to one hand, Kit dug into her cloak and pulled out a small, silver tube. “I have a rape alarm.” She dropped it in his hand. “It’s really loud.”

Marc blinked at her. And then laughed. Not politely.

“I’ll keep that in mind . . . Linwood is known for improper propositions.”

“Really? Do tell—”

“Stand!” Linwood shouted.

Kit swiveled to look behind.

“Eyes on the road.” Marc tugged her cloak.

“You know I hate backseat drivers, right?” Kit said as she turned back around.

“Don’t care.”

Kit nodded toward her left side. “I also have a taser in my cloak pocket.”

“Anything else?”

“Nope.”

“A taser? You know, a handgun would be much more useful in this situation.”

Kit tilted her head, giving him a deadpan look, and then moved her eyes back to the road. “Gah. You are
such
an American. Handguns are illegal in modern Britain. Even
you
should know that.”

Marc dug through her cloak, finding the pocket, and pulled out a large taser, hefting its weight in his hand.

“Great. Now what?” Marc asked. “I can’t very well taser the carriage horses. Animals and people would end up dead.”

Kit blinked, her mouth moving, perplexed. “That is true.”

“Halt, Lord Vader!” Linwood’s voice rang over the sounds of the carriages’ jostling.

Even over the clang of the carriage wheels, Marc heard Kit giggle. “He called you Lord Vader.”

Marc grinned. Man, and he thought he liked nineteenth century Kit . . .

“You have the wrong people, Linwood,” Marc yelled back, tucking the useless taser into the waistband of his pants.

Linwood responded by firing another shot.

Which naturally frightened their horse again. Kit kept a firm hand on the reins, but the poor animal whinnied and continued to run.

Angrily, Marc shouted, “Stop spooking my horse!”

The carriage gained on them. But the road was too narrow for it to draw alongside their own gig. And Linwood didn’t shoot again.

Thank goodness.

Their horse still ran, but Kit seemed to have him back under control.

Which was fortunate, as the road curved to the left. Kit feathered the galloping horse around the turn.

“Nice driving.”

“Thank you.”

Marc glanced behind them.

“Linwood made the turn, though their carriage skid a bit.”

“Drat them.”

“Drat? No more expansive use of the English language?”

“I decided to spare your tender ears.” She handed him the reins. “Here, my arms are getting tired.”

Marc took the reins with an unsure look. “You do realize I’m not a pro at gig driving, right?”

Kit shrugged. “That makes two of us.”

He tightened his grip on the reins, steadying the horse. “I do believe we are involved in a carriage chase scene.”

Kit chuckled. “It’s like incredibly cute and horridly dangerous at the same time.”

“I feel like there should be some theme music going on.”

Kit nodded and then began humming the theme song from
Mission: Impossible.

Still humming, she poked her head around the side, looking behind them.

“They’re gaining on us.” She turned back.

“Of course they are. They have
two
horses pulling their carriage.”

“Yes, but those horses are pulling four people instead of two, so it should be more even. Laws of physics and all.”

“Wait, are you a scientist?”

He could practically feel her eye roll. “Hardly. Just common sense.”

“Well, our horse is tiring.” Marc gestured to the horse, straining in his braces.

Kit glanced behind them.

“Linwood’s gaining,” she reported. “We can’t outrun him. No matter how cute this entire scenario or how much theme music I sing.”

Kit shifted her skirts, looking at the floor of the gig. Marc raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

“Just looking for something to throw,” she explained. “Too bad we didn’t steal a wagon full of rotten vegetables.”

Marc snorted. “You’ve watched too many 1960s Disney movies.”

“
Herbie Rides Again
was a staple of my childhood, I will have you know. Daniel loved that movie—”

“Daniel! Ugh. That’s right. Your brother is blackmailing me!”

“What?”

“Your brother. Blackmailing me.”

Even with the carriage jostling them, Kit looked stunned.

“Daniel is? Are you sure?”

“Absolutely”

“Why?”

“Give up, Vader!” Linwood’s voice howled.

Marc tightened his grip on the reins, ignoring Linwood. “It’s all about the portal.”

“What?” Kit stared at him.

“The blackmailing.”

“Oh. The time portal? What is up with—DUCK!” Kit screamed, pointing ahead of them.

Sure enough. There were ducks.

Hundreds of them, swarming across the road, wings flapping, quacking loudly. A handful of men stood to the side of the roadway, herding the ducks across with long sticks.

Marc hauled on the reins, slowing the horse somewhat, but he still plowed into the birds who scattered out of the way, hissing at him.

“Careful, Marc! I think you hit one.” Kit craned around the side of the carriage, trying to assess the damage. “Poor little thing. But . . . wait . . . it’s okay. He’s up and shaking it off.”