Spirited Away (11 page)

Merciful saints above.
He
was Andi's knight. Bloody hell.

A soft laugh escaped her, and then she turned and moved toward him. "Funny thing is, I thought it was you." She faced him straight on, her eyes holding his. "When I first arrived, that is. But of course, I was mistaken. You said as much yourself."

Neither moved, neither spoke. Their gazes remained fastened for several moments. Christ, how he wanted to kiss her.

Saints, the girl was making him daft.

"I suppose I'd better—oh!"

Tristan jumped back just as Andi's foot caught the claw of his desk. She sprawled forward, and had he not moved, she would've continued to fall straight through him.

As it was, she fell to the floor.

And just as fast as she went down, she jumped back up. Saints, her poor cheeks were blazing.

"What is wrong with you?" she asked, smoothing her tunic. "You'd rather let me fall on my face than reach out a hand to help me?" Turning, she made for the door. "I've got notes to log, tea with Miss Kate, and a busy day tomorrow. Bones to collect. Thanks for the information."

He could do nothing, save let her storm from his solar.

For the life, or unlife, of him, he couldn't recall ever feeling more like an idiot.

Chapter Seven

Andi fumed as she stomped back to her room. How humiliating. Not only did the big oaf fling himself away from danger as she plummeted toward him before she smacked into the floor, but he didn't even bother to apologize. Didn't even extend a hand to help her up—not that she needed it.

Didn't even try to stop her when she left his solar.

She was exasperated with herself. Why was she trying to make friends with a stuffy English lord who apparently thought a little too much of himself? Twice, he'd pulled away from touching her, horror written all over his face, as though the thought of his royal hide scraping skin with a lowly, pock-marred serf such as herself sickened him. As if she'd actually
let
him touch her. Please. The man was
gorgeous.
She was aching for him to touch her. Actually, she'd wanted him to kiss her.

Badly.

As if that would ever happen.

Moments later, Andi greeted Heath's grandmother, Miss Kate, as everyone called her, in the great hall for tea.

Kate MacDougall, an attractive Scottish woman in her early sixties with straight, shoulder-length gray hair she wore neatly pulled together at the nape of her neck, rose from her chair and smiled.

"Afternoon, Dr. Monroe. I hope you don't mind Heath here playing by the hearth while we chat. He fancies lying about in the great hall." She grinned at her grandson, whose missing-tooth smile beamed back. "The lad likes to pretend he's lord of Dreadmoor."

Andi grinned at the boy. "I don't mind a bit."

Jameson bustled into the hall, carrying a tray laden with fresh-baked cookies, a large, steaming pot of tea, cream, sugar, and four cups, spoons, four small plates, and a silver set of tongs. He placed the tray on a solid oak table situated between the chairs, and glanced at Miss Kate. "You're looking quite well this afternoon. Tea?" His cheeks reddened.

Not surprisingly, Kate's blushed, as well, and she giggled. "Thank you, Edgar. I'd love some."

Andi nearly choked as she stifled a laugh.
Edgar?

Jameson shot Andi a look, then hurried through the filling of all cups. Heath joined them, and everyone set about with sugar, cream, and cookies, which were beyond heavenly.

After a few moments of idle chatting, Andi spoke to Kate. "Can you tell me anything of the legend?"

Kate, Heath, and Jameson shared a look, and then Kate smiled. "I was born in the Dark Isles of the Highlands, lass, and I've heard stories ever since I was a wee girl." She set down her plate of cookies and wiped her mouth with a napkin. "What do you know so far?"

"Well," Andi started, "I've been told Dragonhawk and his knights disappeared after returning from a wedding celebration. No bodies, no armor—and that witchcraft could have been involved."

Kate nodded. "All hearsay, mind you, but 'tis the same story. No one knows why, or how so many fierce men could have been subdued. Their families never heard from them again—so the legend goes."

Heath chimed in. "I heard from me best mate at school that fairies came and took them back to their hollows underground." His face screwed up. "But that sounds like it was made up by a girl. No way would the Dragonhawk be taken by a fairy!"

Andi smiled. "I wholeheartedly agree."

"A witch, perhaps?" Kate said. " 'Twas a lot of evil in those days, and witchery wasn't uncommon."

Andi shrugged. "Even if witchcraft were involved, that wouldn't explain why there were no bodies."

Kate leaned forward. "Witchery can be a powerful evil, lass. Don't dismiss it so thoroughly."

Andi glanced at Heath, who crossed himself.

Jameson, who'd remained uncommonly quiet, rose. "I daresay all you'll find is lore and legend, Dr.

Monroe. 'Twas many a century ago, you know. Not much detail, other than business of the church, was recorded. Rather, recorded and preserved. In a desolate area such as Dreadmoor, 'tis highly unlikely anything was written down."

Andi stood and tried to wrap her brain around the illogical aspects of witchcraft. She smiled.

"Forgive me, but I just don't believe in witchcraft or ghosts. It's just not in my nature. Something more solid had to have been the cause of death for such a large group of virile medieval warriors."

Jameson's mouth twitched. Kate's eyes sparkled. Heath downright grinned. Had they all lost their minds?

Then their eyes all averted to some point behind her. Andi turned to find the lord of Dreadmoor himself, standing with hands shoved into the pockets of his nicely packaged faded jeans. A dark blue Henley pulled at the muscles bunched in his arms and chest, and Andi had to check for drool on her chin.

Sexy hardly described him.

"Virile, you say?" Tristan lifted one dark brow. "Since it is my ancestor we speak of, I can assure you
that
bit of legend is true."

Muffled though it was, Andi heard Kate's giggle.

"My lord, you've just missed tea," Jameson said. "Can I prepare you a tray?"

"Nay, man, but thank you all the same. I'm off. Business, you see." Tristan gave a low bow. "Ladies.

Master Heath."

With that, Tristan de Barre left the hall.

Under his breath, Heath muttered, "He's cool."

Andi watched Tristan go, her insides tingling. Good Lord, he was ... cool.

"Right. Come along, Heath. We've got a bit of baking to do for our guests this eve." Kate met Andi's gaze.

"High season for tourists, you see. Lots to do." She smiled. "If you ever tire of this drafty place, come for a visit, won't you? I love a bit of girl talk here and there."

"And you can meet my mum," Heath added. "She likes girl talk, too, I bet."

Andi smiled. "Absolutely, I'd love to. Thank you for the offer."

Kate turned and gave Jameson a smile. "Lovely tea as always, Edgar."

Jameson gave a low bow. "Lovely company as always, Miss Kate. Come, Master Heath. I'll show you and your grandmum out."

Andi waved them good-bye and plopped down onto the overstuffed chair. Grabbing the last cookie, she nibbled and waited for Jameson to return. Her thoughts turned to their previous conversation as she chewed.

Witchcraft and ghosts. While fascinating to hear the tales and lore, it simply didn't make sense, and it certainly didn't add up. Yet, she'd heard that voice, had seen that waft of mist ...

"I see you've cleaned the cookie tray," Jameson said behind her. "Quite an appetite you have."

Andi rose from the chair and smiled. "I can't help it. Those cookies are delicious."

"I'm sure they are," Jameson said.

Together, Andi and Jameson cleared the tea setting and loaded the dishwasher. While muttering under his breath that it just didn't sit well with him for her to be doing house chores, he allowed her to help put the great hall chairs to rights and tidy up.

When they were finished, Andi headed to her room. "I think I'll go over my notes for a while," she said.

"I'll announce when dinner is ready," Jameson said.

As she passed by, Andi gave Jameson a wide smile and a wink. "That'll be lovely,
Edgar."

Edgar Jameson's face turned bright red. "I'm sure it will be, my lady."

After a couple of hours spent poring over her site log, Andi stretched and decided to walk around the castle. Powering down her laptop, she slipped out of the chamber and started up the corridor.

Long, winding passageways ran this way and that, and Andi lost track of the way she'd come.

Suddenly, she pulled to a stop. She listened, turning her head to find the sound floating up the passageway.

It came from the opposite direction. A TV, perhaps? Loud. Male voices. Several of them. Funny, she thought she was the only one at Dreadmoor, besides Tristan and Jameson.

Moving back down the corridor, she passed several doors before seeing a light flicker under the one at the end. The sound of several excited rowdy males drifted out. Carefully, she pushed the door open, just a fraction, ready to peek inside.

"My lady?"

Jameson's voice made her jump, knocking her head against the door frame. Rubbing it, she felt her face grow hot with embarrassment. "Oh. Hi." She inclined her head. "I thought I heard a party going on."

Jameson cleared his throat, speaking louder than normal. "Nay, my lady. There isn't a party going on this time of eve, here, in this corner chamber."

What was up with him? Cocking her head to the side, she turned and pushed the door open.

No rowdy males. Nobody at all. Only a big-screened TV against one wall, a large fireplace taking up the space of another, an overstuffed leather sofa and love seat, and a few footstools. A rugby game blared from the TV.

Shrugging her shoulder, she backed out of the room and slid a glance at Jameson. "Sorry. It must've been the game I heard."

Jameson nodded. "Indeed. Master Tristan must have left the tele running. Are you ready for supper?"

After a delicious meal of pot roast and vegetables, Andi helped Jameson clear the dishes.

"Shall I walk you to your room?" he asked.

She shook her head and headed up the corridor. "No, that's okay. The food was great, thank you. See you in the morning."

"Good eve to you, Dr. Monroe."

Once to her room, she shut the door behind her and leaned against the cool wood. A long, exasperated sigh escaped her lips as she thought of the day's events.

Nosing around the castle, sneaking a peek into a room she had no business sneaking a peek into ...

And there was Tristan. He'd set her on edge earlier. Beyond handsome—mouthwatering, to be exact. And very, very much like the man she'd
thought
she'd seen so long ago. Then she thought of how he'd jumped back in his solar and allowed her to fall on her rump without even trying to help.

But that man, the one dressed like a knight, had at least feared for her safety. Had tried to help her.

Lord Tristan de Barre of Dreadmoor had simply faked to the left, allowing her to plunge to his hard, old floor.

The sharp blast of her mobile snapped her from gloomy thoughts of Dreadmoor. Pushing off the door, she crossed the room and read the illuminated face.
Kirk.

Flipping the cover, she sighed with relief. "Hey, you. What's up?"

Her mentor's deep voice sounded from the other end of the line. "Bored without you, of course.

How is it at the dark and gloomy Dreadmoor castle? Run into any bloodcurdling spirits yet?"

Kirk had pulled a string or two to get her here. No way would she let him think for a minute she was upset about something. "It's fantastic, actually. Dark? Yes. Gloomy? Definitely. But absolutely fantastic. You should see this room. Gorgeous doesn't even begin to describe it."

"Making much progress?"

Kicking off her sneakers, she padded over to the window seat in the alcove, plopped down, and stared out into the faded evening. "A lot of progress, actually. I've taken all the photos, logged the site, and sent the soil and bone fragment samples that had been flung to the side to Terrance Daughtry. Tomorrow, I begin to remove the remains. And guess what? Dreadmoor said you can be here for it."

"You're kidding?"

Andi grinned. "I would never kid. I was just about to call you myself and beg you to come. I'm sorry it's taken so long with the logging and pictures, but without an intern—"

"I know, I know. Not to worry, then. I'll be out straightaway in the morning, say eight-ish?"

"Absolutely," Andi said.

"That's my girl. Have you inspected any of the weaponry?"

"Not yet. It's a bit further to the right and under the root system and remains. I'll have to collect the bones first, then have a team hired to cut and drag the oak away. It's enormous—the trunk is ten meters wide. I can barely see a slip of metal through the dirt, though, but that's all." She pressed her nose to the glass. "Why?"

"Pah. Just wondering, love. I'm rather interested in the hoard."

Stretching her legs, she turned on her back and propped her stockinged feet in the sill. "How's the team doing?"

"Quite green and demanding, and I wouldn't think of leaving them for a moment." He chuckled. "I have to keep my eyes glued to them every second. But they'll enjoy a day off tomorrow, whilst I come out and give you a hand."

"I can't wait," she said.

"Right. Get some rest, girl. We'll have a big day tomorrow."

They rang off, and Andi grinned. Unearthing the remains would be interesting. Tiring, with just the two of them, but at least Tristan had given her the okay to have Kirk give her a hand.

A wave of exhaustion washed over her, and her eyes began to droop. Too tired to move to the bed, Andi set the mobile on the floor, turned on her side, and closed her eyes.

Tristan rested his hand on the hilt of his sword and watched Andrea in slumber. Saints, she was passing lovely. A thick strand of dark hair draped over her brow, and soft, full lips parted as deep, even breaths slipped past. Her folded hands cushioned her cheek like a pillow. More than passing lovely.