The Guardian (Chronicles of Dover's Amalgam Book 1) (4 page)

She snapped her wrist in his general direction. “You go on and on about releasing me from my duties, yet you have a list of things you send with me each day.” She reached into the pocket of her jeans, produced a crumpled scrap of parchment paper and tossed it at him. It hit his linen clad chest and rolled onto his lap. A portion of his sloppy calligraphy handwriting peeked out. “I hardly know what you would do if I wasn’t here for you to boss around. If I don’t come back, who’d get all these books for you?”

“Minh? Gabriel?” he asked in a bored tone, although inwardly he panicked for reasons he did not understand. He shrugged. “My faithful nursemaid lives to serve my every whim.”

“Jackass!” she swore. The word was not muttered, but boldly proclaimed. She stomped her booted foot as if the curse alone was not enough to make the point that she was upset. “I think I liked it better when you couldn’t talk.”

Narrowing his eyes, he surveyed the small girl who stood with arms crossed possessively over her chest as he awaited an answer. She seemed as if she may ignite on the spot. Her foot tapped in the most irritating manner while her face turned an unhealthy scarlet hue It was overdramatic, as if she had rehearsed the entire scene for a play. He did not have relationships that demanded feelings
and used arms and bodily gestures as grammatical lyric. It had to be the evolution of things. Women became drama queens in the new apathetic world.

She was so small and volatile. Compared to him, she was a child’s size. He guessed they were close in age only because of her shape and speech. She may be tiny, but had the body of a woman. And she was sharp, but it was absurd that she dare take that kind of tone with him.

“I believe when you are done with my skills, I will be expendable,” she added belatedly; as if the notion just popped into her head.

Jareth managed not to laugh aloud. It was so typical of her to say something both confusing and in retrospect. “I dare say you are not expendable.” If anything, he was honest. “I need you. I could not have survived without your care. As much as I wax about my faithful servants, let us be truthful. They are profoundly absent as of late.” The hard planes of Elizabet’s face softened as she seemed to gauge the sincerity of his words, and her arms relaxed. “I have not had the pleasure of their company since you arrived. That leaves me in your care. Exclusively.”

Jareth fidgeted slightly with the bed sheet as her demeanor was suddenly premature. The way she went doe eyed and hopeful was a mystery. It did something strange to his stomach. “I feel as though I know you,” he admitted. “Impossible—I know, but I do.”

He grimaced. Self-depreciating, for he was a man who knew a great many things. “I can still hear you speaking to me on the field where I lay dying. Your voice grounded me.” He watched his fingers lift the heavy cover as he drew it further upward over the sheets. “You saved me.”

“I have to go,” she murmured. It was the softest he had ever heard her speak, and that made him lift his gaze to meet hers. He was sure she would say something further, but then the apparition faded in. The wormhole contracted near the doorway; it would only be seconds before Mrs. Wheatley fully appeared. Their privacy was about to be invaded.

Jareth closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled sharply. He allowed his head to rest back on the pillow. “Return tomorrow. Please. We can finish this discussion when there is more time.” It smarted the way his voice sounded like a plea. He never begged. His lips turned downward into a frown.

“I’ll come if I don’t have too much work. I have other people who rely on me too. You know?” she said.

He peeked at her and she smiled to assure him she was not being difficult. She stepped away from the edge of the bed and turned away as the small circle of light opened wider. Mrs. Wheatley’s form fully materialized in the center of the circle. Her wrinkled face appeared worried as she got her bearings and stepped from the portal. She gestured for Elizabet with a sweep of her arm. “Come, dear. Your grandmother is becoming suspicious.” She turned to face Jareth. “All is well, my lord?”

He could tell she was rushing things and only asked to be polite. “Aye,” he answered. His eyes were open a fraction. His heart raced as he lay there—slain by a mere conversation. He had the uneasy feeling that he had either said too little or too much and he was out of time to remedy it either way.

Mrs. Wheatley smiled and nodded, then slightly frowned. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at Elizabet’s back. The girl had not moved an inch, but rather blinked stupidly at him.

“You’ll have to change your dressing,” she said, her sarcasm back in full force. “That is, if you can manage anything for yourself, my lord.” The word ‘lord’ dripped from her mouth as though it was laden with poison.

Jareth pinched the bridge of this nose with a force that would hurt if he could feel it over the pounding of his heart. His jaw clamped and ground to a painful degree.

Regardless of Elizabet’s rudeness, the faithful Mrs. Wheatley wrapped an affectionate arm around Elizabet and guided her to the portal’s opening. She looked lovingly down on the girl who seemed on the edge of sticking her tongue out at the duke. “The correct method of address isn’t ‘my lord’ for you, child. It’s ‘your grace’.”

The last thing Jareth saw was the expression on Elizabet’s face as the portal’s round opening closed around them like a cinched purse string. Her eyes were round, questioning and a little wounded, perhaps from thinking she had been played false. Her confusion mingled with all the other emotions she must be experiencing, as well. That was the thing about Elizabet—her face exposed everything she felt.

She had no idea he was one of the most powerful men in the thirteenth century, and she still did not know his name. Even though she had just asked, he had not the chance to answer. How that escaped him, he did not know, but it pleased him greatly that he still had the upper hand. This meant she would be back tomorrow. She was not the type to let something like that go. Perhaps she should learn to be patient and listen rather than barrel through every conversation like a stubborn bull. He had a headache just thinking about following her idea patterns.

But Jareth smiled—the second real smile of the day as he scooped up the book at his side and began to read about the prevention of infection and gangrene in the surgical patient.

Chapter 3

JARETH INSPECTED THE
translucent skin covering his healing wound. He ran his fingertips across its length, from under his heart to an inch below the navel. It had been deep enough to nick his bowel, but miraculously left his internal organs untouched. It was as if a skilled surgeon had made the wound with a jagged knife. It was still deep, but no longer required packing or debridement.

“Are you going to put your shirt down, or would you like some privacy?” Gabriel asked from the doorway, and leveled a stare toward Jareth’s exposed abdomen.

Jareth carefully rolled his tunic over his wound and smoothed down the velvet cloth in a protective gesture. He tipped his chin toward his guest. “How long have you been standing there? Are you spying? Collecting data for the future me?”

“Both.” Gabriel smiled and took a few steps forward. “It looks better five years from now.” He gestured to the covered wound. Jareth frowned, to which Gabriel’s smile widened. “Very roguish. All the rave for the ladies.”

Jareth’s lips drew into a straight, unimpressed line and he looked away, upward to the canopy over the bed. Gabriel’s smile slowly vanished. “Minh sends well wishes.”

“And the girl?” Jareth kept his voice abrupt; his hands were knurled into claws within the coverlet. “It’s been a week since she visited.”

Had she taken his offer and refused to return? He could hardly imagine that she went without a fight after the exit she made. Her curiosity was probably killing her somewhere in the twentieth century. The day after she left, Gabriel showed up. Jareth confided in him the conversation he had with Elizabet. That had been the last he saw of either of them until today.

“You wanted her gone. I took care of that.”

“I said I wanted answers,” Jareth said, and tried not to curse and smite Gabriel where he stood. “I had to get a servant to help change my dressing. Do you know how awkward that was? It is why it is unbound now. I will not have anyone know how wounded I became, but I cannot dress it properly myself.”

“You said she caused you unrest.” Gabriel took a seat in the chair near the bed without invite. “And we both know you need your rest.” He adjusted his sword to fit comfortably by his side and gazed down on at Jareth. “That’s what I do. Take care of you.”

Jareth allowed his lips to twist, and rolled his head to the side so their eyes could clash.

“Before you go all royal on me . . .” Gabriel made a cutting gesture with his hand. “We have things besides women to discuss.”

Jareth merely stared at Gabriel. He drummed the fingers of his left hand while he waited, but maintained a stiffness that held a clawing motion. He still wanted to skin Gabriel alive for assuming he wanted to be free from Elizabet.

When Gabriel had finally appeared, Jareth bombarded him with questions, none of which garnered him any real answers. It seemed Jareth’s minions were scheming against him. Taking the secrecy thing to a new level that included even him. Jareth did not like it.

Besides that, a person could have too much rest. That was partially his problem. He was tired of lying abed all day and night, waited on hand and foot as if he was an ill child, in terrible pain. Without even an entertaining chit to boss around.

“I never discuss women,” Jareth said.

“Not now,” Gabriel replied under his breath.

“What was that?” Jareth asked. With his head slanted, he awaited another low reply.

“Nothing.”

“Precisely.”

Gabriel’s eyes flickered to Jareth’s face for a brief second. He wondered if Gabriel noticed what he’d seen in the reflecting glass—the tightness around his mouth and the flaring of nostrils as he breathed. Most probably. Even though Gabriel spoke with clear inflection, his body could not lie.

“I apologize, your grace. I wouldn’t have come unless I had to. It’s obvious you are in pain.”

“Apologies will not be necessary,” Jareth stated with a negligent wave of his hand. “I grow tired of synthetic medicine, but my travail comes and goes.” He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. “I must beg your forgiveness, my friend. It would seem I am not myself today.”

“It’s to be expected.”

Jareth’s head dipped slightly. “A nobleman’s lack of manners should never be excused. To agree with such nonsense is a travesty. You provide me a grave injustice.”

“You are always a gentleman, your grace.”

“That is the problem, is it not?” Jareth asked with a rueful half grin. “I am a duke with massive lands and responsibility. I am expected to rule for King and Country with a mighty fist, yet I find the company of orphans more palatable than the presence of the Black Prince himself. I make judgments based on biblical principle rather than the law of the king.” He looked away and out the small, narrow window that was thrown open to allow a breeze to enter his chambers. “And I find my heart increasingly absent from my duties. Why is that, Gabriel? Do you care to tell me why I find myself in this predicament?”

He followed Gabriel’s gaze as it lowered to his worn leather boots. There was a smear of blood left on one. Gabriel’s vision seemed focused on that speck of red.

“Are you still translating?”

“You know the answer to that,” Jareth snapped. He loathed the way his basic question was ignored and sidetracked. It was classic Gabriel style.

“And you realize this hobby of yours could get you killed?”

“And you realize that this hobby of mine, as you fondly refer to my
calling and election
, is the primary reason I am head of the Amalgam?”

“I don’t mean to be insolent, your grace.”

Jareth allowed his voice to turn irritable. “Ah, but you are, Gabriel.”

Gabriel’s teeth clenched at his tone, and he changed the subject. “Then I will be quick and be out of your way. I’m here to give report.”

A bark of laughter left Jareth’s lips. “Then I shall put misery far from you. You are wondering about the Huns, I presume?” He shook his head, a
tsk
riding under his breath. “Of course you are not here to hear my problematic ranting on why I find my life burdensome. Nor do you have a care that the work I do is crucial to the survival of true Christianity.”

“You presume incorrectly. I do care for you, your majesty. I support your ties with the Church. I just don’t always understand them. But I was hoping you had insight on the attack. The future your grace has no clue. We are finding that time jumping is causing hazy memories. For us of all. Some are totally hidden. Other memories have some definition, but huge holes are missing. I think there’s been a breach somewhere. I count all seven travel stones, but that doesn’t explain the Huns and how they got here. It has to be alchemy . . . or we are missing something.”

“I do not know, Gabriel,” Jareth suddenly felt as weary as he appeared. “Why would an Asian army attack a free people who are at peace with their enemies? The harbor has been safe since the last crusade. The French are quiet, even if they are not allied with England.” He shrugged. “You say that the travel stone is one mined near Russia?”

“You think that is related?”

“The Huns are kindred to their neighbors, if I recall history correctly.” Gabriel nodded. “Then, why is it that I—my future person—have not discovered the breach and diffused it before it reached this caliber?”

Gabriel stared at his bloodied boots again. He seemed unable to meet Jareth’s questioning gaze. “You are not available. Family problems.”

Jareth was intrigued by his future. The mention of family interested him as currently, he had none. “Family problems?”

A smile curved on Gabriel’s mouth as he looked up. “You’re a daddy.”

Jareth’s brows became lopsided as one climbed until it could go no higher.

“Would you like to know what you named your son?” Gabriel asked.