Page 18 of When I Fall in Love (De Piaget #4)

J ennifer woke and sat up with a start. She looked around her and let out a shuddering breath. Well, it was still the bedroom she was accustomed to having, but the very fine goose-feather mattress—topped as it was by an admittedly fine sheet and a luxurious duvet—let her know that she was very much trapped back in the past. That, and the fact that her violin did not find itself propped up in the comer.

At least not in this century.

She lay back down and looked up at the canopy of the bed above her. It was a very fine bed, obviously something made for a woman of rank. She supposed that being a noblewoman in the Middle Ages hadn’t been so bad. Unfortunately, she wasn’t a woman of rank.

She didn’t want to think about what she was going to do, but she knew she had no choice. She couldn’t live forever at Artane, daughter of no one, wife of no one, without kin or friend, without occupation or money, with only her cell phone to keep her company. She would have to find something to do, some way to earn her keep, someplace to live. Unfortunately, based on what she knew of the time period, she suspected her life as a medieval peasant was not going to be good.

She sat up, wished desperately for a comb, then swung her legs to the floor and got out of bed. She shouldn’t have given Montgomery back his clothes. At least wearing them would have made her less conspicuous.

Having no other choice, she put her jeans on. Checking that her pockets were still full of what they were supposed to be full of, she turned and faced the door. There was no time like the present to be about her future, even if that future was so hopeless, the very thought of it made her want to go back to bed and pull the covers up over her head.

She opened the door, then started in surprise. There was a collection of servants standing in the hallway in front of her. A young, neatly dressed woman, who couldn’t have been any older than eighteen, bobbed a curtsey.

“A good morn to you, my lady,” she said with a smile. “My name is Marlys. My lord Nicholas thought you might find a bath to your liking this morn.”

Jennifer looked at the tub that sat between two burly guys. “A bath,” she said in astonishment.

“He also said that you were from Scotland”—and here Marlys crossed herself briefly—“so we were to understand that your customs might be different from ours and that you would likely wish to bathe in private.”

Then, before Jennifer could say anything, Marlys directed that the tub be brought in, saw that it was filled with hot water, then ordered everyone out.

“Call me and I’ll wash your hair for you,” Marlys said.

Jennifer didn’t stop to argue. She shucked off her clothes, rolled them up and put them under the covers, then got into the tub.

It was bliss.

She didn’t even mind using soap made from a substance she didn’t dare identify, or letting Marlys wash her hair, or trying to convince three other serving girls that she could really dry herself off by herself.

Before she could decide how best to retrieve her old clothes, Marlys had produced a dress and a pair of shoes which they put on her without delay. She was then placed on a stool and Marlys combed out her hair.

“My lord Nicholas awaits you in his father’s solar,” Marlys said as she finished. “He said that if you wanted to bring your special Scottish clothing with you, he would put it in his father’s trunk for safekeeping.”

Special Scottish clothing? Well, if that’s what they wanted to believe, so much the better. Jennifer nodded, grabbed her rolled-up things and thanked Marlys for the bath. She left the bedroom feeling quite a bit more comfortable in medieval gear than jeans, though the lack of bloomers was a little disconcerting.

When in Rome ...

Jennifer supposed, as she stood in front of Rhys de Piaget’s solar a few minutes later, that she should have at least pretended to ask for directions since she wasn’t supposed to have been at Artane before. Well, too late now. She lifted her hand and knocked.

“Enter!” came the bellow from inside.

Jennifer took another deep breath, tried to ignore the fact that the last time she’d seen the inside of the room in front of her had been 800 years from that moment, then pulled on the latch and let herself into Rhys de Piaget’s solar.

The only thing that helped her remember that she was a twenty-first-century gal was holding on to her clothes. In every other respect, she felt as though she could have been a medieval miss walking into a lord’s solar as automatically as if she’d done it the whole of her life. Only she wasn’t a medieval miss.

And the two men sitting there looking at her weren’t just average medieval guys.

Robin and Nicholas both had their feet propped up on their father’s table. The moment Nicholas saw her, though, the front legs of his chair hit the floor along with his feet. He stood and made her a low bow.

Then he smiled.

Jennifer clutched her clothes. Oh, where oh where was Mr. Grump? She knew how to handle him. She wasn’t at all sure what to do with the rather contented-looking man in front of her.

“Good morrow to you, lady,” he said, inclining his head.

“And to you, my lord.” She smiled weakly. “Thank you for the bath. It was wonderful.”

He clasped his hands behind his back. “It was but a small thing.”

She held up the skirt of her gown. “And I take it I have you to thank for this and the shoes?”

“Small things as well.”

“He was up half the night stitching the hem,” Robin offered, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head. “That’s why it doesn’t match.”

“Ignore him,” Nicholas said pleasantly. “I usually do. Now, I see you’ve brought your gear. Shall I stow it for you?”

Jennifer surrendered her only links to the future and watched as Nicholas locked them in a large trunk. He tossed the key to Robin, then smiled at her again.

“Your things will be there, whenever you want them,” he said. “Now, do you care to eat, lady?”

“You’re being very polite,” she managed.

Robin burst out laughing. “Polite, indeed. I daresay his lack of sleep has robbed him of the energy necessary to be foul. It has also apparently robbed him of the ability to match fabrics.”

Nicholas made what Jennifer suspected was a very rude gesture to his brother. Robin only grinned in return.

“I’ve never had a man make a gown for me before,” Jennifer put in. “I think it’s very nice.”

“See?” Nicholas said pointedly to his brother. “She likes it.”

“She’s obviously weak from hunger.” Robin dropped his feet to the floor and rose to arrange a chair for her nearby. “I’m sure enduring your company for so long has been very draining. Come, my lady, and take your ease.”

Jennifer started to sit, then noticed that he had the beginnings of a black eye. Nicholas, she could see, had a matching shiner. She looked back at Robin.

“Did you two fight?”

“Only a little brawl,” Robin said with a conspiratorial wink. “It won’t stop him from going to fetch us something to eat.”

“You go fetch it,” Nicholas said.

“Show her that you have decent manners,” Robin said, nodding toward the door. “I will keep her safe enough here for you. And I won’t tell her any more of your secrets.”

Jennifer smiled at Robin. “Does he have any left?”

“Not any interesting ones,” Nicholas muttered, heading toward the door. “Feel free to swat him if he becomes annoying.”

Jennifer sat and watched Nicholas go. She wished desperately for a moment to think before she had to converse with his brother, but that wasn’t to be. She turned slowly and looked at him.

She couldn’t say he looked much like the current lord of Artane—the lord of her day—but she couldn’t say he didn’t, either. In fact, he looked so much like a dark-haired version of Megan’s husband, Gideon, she had to take a deep breath. For that matter, Nicholas looked a good deal like Gideon, but there were so many other complications laid on him that she hadn’t really had the presence of mind to make the comparison before.

One thing was certain: Robin de Piaget was very comfortable in his own skin and obviously quite comfortable sitting in his father’s chair and taking over his duties as lord of the manor. Jennifer smiled at him.

“Thank you for the hospitality, my lord,” she began.

He waved her words away. “I’m just Robin, remember? And I wouldn’t think to do anything else. Any friend of Nicholas’s is always welcome at Artane.”

Jennifer smiled deprecatingly. “I don’t know if he would call me a friend. He rescued me from an unpleasant situation and was kind enough to give me refuge. I can’t say he’s had a choice in the matter.”

Robin put his elbows on the table. “Nick always has a choice. He could just as easily have left you in the care of the lads at Seakirk, or given you a horse and sent you on your way. I understand you’ve missed your kin a time or two.”

Jennifer realized then that she was going to have to stay on her toes with Robin of Artane. He was very polite, very handsome, and apparently quite adept at finding out what he wanted to know. His changes of subject were dizzying.

“Ah, yes,” she said with a nod. “I have.”

“Are you from Scotland?”

“Ah,” she managed again, “yes. Most recently.” And that really wasn’t a lie. She’d just come down from Jamie’s a month ago. All things considered, she thought that just might count as someplace to be from.

“Nick would take you back there, if you wanted,” Robin said mildly.

Jennifer considered that quickly. Yes, he could take her to Scotland but it would be about fifty years before James MacLeod was born. She would find herself tossed immediately into a dungeon and left there to rot, if something worse didn’t happen to her first.

“Or perhaps the distance is too great,” Robin mused.

“My home is a very long way away,” she agreed.

“I think,” Robin began thoughtfully, “that sometimes when we are far from home, it almost feels as if our homes are in another world entirely—”

“Food,” Nicholas said suddenly, bursting into the solar and banging a tray down on Rhys’s table. “Indulge yourself, brother, and give Jennifer’s poor ears a rest.”

Jennifer soon found herself with a wooden bowl full of porridge in her hands. She tasted, prepared to bear up under less than ideal culinary circumstances, but found herself pleasantly surprised.

“Has Nick been cooking for you?” Robin asked around a mouthful of breakfast.

“How did you know?”

“You look surprised that this is good,” he said. “Artane always has a very fine cook. We’ve a new one now who’s even finer than the last one.”

Apparently that was a tradition that would be carried on through the ages, but she chose not to say as much. She merely nodded and continued to eat. She was acutely aware of Nicholas sitting next to her, looking quite comfortable. He had gone from a man who had refused to aid her in returning home to a man who seemed determined to make her feel welcome in his home.

Weird.

Robin looked at them both with twinkling eyes, as if he was turning over in his head a joke so delicious that he simply couldn’t wait to share it.

Jennifer took a surreptitious look at Nicholas, but he was merely eating with the relish of a man who had been partaking of his own cooking for far too long. He did look up once at Robin, saw him smirking, and uttered a very succinct and pointed curse.

Robin laughed.

“What is so funny?” Jennifer asked, unsure if she was amused or exasperated.

Robin looked at her and shook his head. “I am merely of a pleasant and cheerful disposition. I can see you are of a like temperament. Perhaps you will cause a sweetening of my brother’s humors.”

“Hmmm,” Jennifer said. “Maybe.”

Nicholas turned his head and looked at her with a very small smile.

It was enough to make her very glad she was sitting down.

It also made her realize that she was playing with fire. This wasn’t her family, Nicholas was not her boyfriend, and she was not medieval nobility. The sooner she came to terms with that and figured out what she was going to do with her life, the better off she would be.

And the less broken her heart would feel.

It was all she could do to make polite, innocuous conversation during the rest of the meal. She wasn’t sure she could do it for the rest of the day. Fortunately, she was rescued by a knock on the door.

“Enter,” Robin called. “Ah, Sir Walter. Do you have business for me?”

An older man entered the chamber and inclined his head both to Robin and Nicholas. He made her a bow as well. “My lords, but a few moments of your time.”

Jennifer stood up. “I’ll go.”

Nicholas rose as well and walked her to the door. “I daresay you would be quite safe wandering about the inner bailey. Isn’t that so, Sir Walter?”

“Oh, aye,” Sir Walter said with a nod.

Jennifer nodded. “I’ll take a little tour. Thanks for breakfast.”

She left while she still had some control over her polite smile. In reality, she was contemplating that return back to bed. Covers over the head seemed like a very strategic move at the moment.

But she wasn’t a coward, so she made her way through the great hall and went out the front door. She hesitated, then walked down a couple of steps and sat down where she could see the goings-on and have a bit of a think.

She looked out over the courtyard. She supposed it had to be the same size as the one at modem Artane, though it was definitely filled with different things. First of all, there were no cutouts in the walls where cannons had been used for defense during the 1500s and no Victorian carriage house that in the twenty-first century housed the earl’s fine collection of antique cars and a Range Rover or two. No satellite dish, no floodlights, no modem village stretching out beyond the walls and into the distance.

Instead there were stables and a blacksmith’s shop, a chapel, and a garden. There were a pair of other buildings she couldn’t identify a use for and to her right were the lists. Men went about their duties. Women carried cloth or food or tended small animals. She could hear horses neighing, the blacksmith pounding, guardsmen calling out to each other. It was very, very medieval.

She wondered, with a detachment that almost frightened her, just what she would be doing in a month’s time. She supposed she could become a washerwoman or a seamstress. The gown she was wearing was something professionally done. Well, except for the hem, but that had been an act of kindness so she was willing to look on it with a friendly eye.

She heard the door open behind her, but she didn’t dare turn around. Besides, her eyes were so full of tears, she wouldn’t have been able to identify the person anyway. The newcomer sat down next to her. She knew without looking that it was Nicholas.

That in itself was a little scary.

She dried her eyes with the hem of her sleeve, then turned to look at him. He was watching her gravely. She returned his look as steadily as she could. There was definitely something different about him. She supposed it probably had something to do with being home. Maybe Wyckham was where he planned to make his home, but it wasn’t the home of his heart. Not yet.

Whatever the case, all she knew was that he was much more cheerful here in his father’s hall, despite the seriousness of his expression at present.

“Bad news?” she asked lightly.

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You look very serious. Miles said you were the sunny one of the family.”

He pursed his lips. “Then Miles indeed babbled freely, I take it.”

“Did you expect anything else?”

“Nay,” he said quietly. “I suppose I didn’t.”

Jennifer turned away from that subject as quickly as possible. She didn’t want to think about how Amanda had broken his heart. And she most definitely didn’t want to think about him marrying someone while she stood at the back of the hall, waiting for the duty of sewing his wife’s clothes.

“I need to think about my future,” she said suddenly, not trusting herself to look at him. She looked out into the courtyard, swathed in all its medieval glory.

“Well—”

“I have relied on your kindness for far too long,” she continued, plunging heedlessly into the morass that was now her life’s disaster. She had to keep plunging, however. If she stopped to think about what she was saying, she knew she would break down and weep. “I was thinking that perhaps I could become a seamstress, or perhaps even a musician. I’m not sure how I would go about becoming either. Do you think your mother might hire me to do sewing for her until I could earn enough money to make it on my own?”

He was silent for so long, she almost looked at him.

But she had more self-control than that.

“Nay.”

She did look at him then. “What?”

“My mother will not hire you because you will not ask her.”

Jennifer felt her eyebrows go up of their own accord. “I beg your pardon?”

He dismissed her words with a faint look of impatience. “You do not need to earn any gold.”

“But—”

“I have more than enough for the both of us.”

“But I can’t take yours,” she said miserably.

“Why not?”

“Because,” she said, turning to face him, “I just can’t. You don’t owe me anything and I can’t live forever on your charity. I have to make my own way.”

He looked down thoughtfully at the bit of stair between his feet. He regarded it steadily for several minutes, as if it contained all the answers he needed. Then he looked at her.

“Give me a fortnight,” he said quietly.

She blinked. “What?”

“Give me a fortnight,” he repeated. “A succession of days in which nothing warrants a rescue, nothing merits tears, and nothing leads either of us to batter my elder brother.”

“But—”

“We will rise in the morning, enjoy a leisurely breaking of our fast, pass the day in pleasant activities, then return each evening to the hall where we will partake of fine wine and fine music.”

She felt a tear escape down her cheek. She would have tried to wipe it away, but that might have drawn attention to it and that she couldn’t have.

“Why?” she asked.

“Why not?”

“No,” she said impatiently, “it’s a fair question. Why? Why with me?”

He smiled a half smile. “Can a man not wish to spend a fortnight with a beautiful woman without his motives being questioned?”

“No,” she said simply. “He cannot.”

He sighed and looked out over the courtyard. “Very well, then, here are my reasons. I have had a difficult pair of years. You have had a difficult pair of fortnights. I daresay we both could stand a stretch of time that is filled with lovely things. Or,” he said, turning his head to look at her, “it could be that I find your company fascinating and I am a selfish bastard who selfishly wants to have you all to myself.”

“Oh,” she said, but no sound came out. She considered for a moment, then shook her head slowly. “But I couldn’t, Nicholas,” she said quietly. “I can’t bear the thought of becoming accustomed to something that could never be mine.”

He looked at her for several minutes in silence, then put his hands on his knees. “Wait for me.”

And with that, he rose and went back inside the house. Jennifer took a deep breath, then gave in and put her face in her hands where she could really have a good cry.

She cried for quite some time.

Eventually, she felt someone sit down next to her again. She did her best to repair the damage to her face with her sleeve yet again before she looked to see who it was.

It was Robin.

She was so surprised, she squeaked.

“Sorry,” he said with a smile.

She shook her head. What was it with these Artane men? Every one of them was more handsome than was good for him—or, no doubt, for any female with decent vision living within a five-mile radius.

“I’m not myself,” she managed finally. “I’m not a crier.”

“It’s Nick,” Robin said. “He drives everyone to it. He would drive me to tears, too, if I were that sort of lad. But I’d rather express my displeasure with my fists.”

“So I have seen on his face.”

“I went easy on him.”

“I wonder what he looks like when you go hard on him.”

“ ’Tis extremely unattractive,” Robin said with a grin.

Jennifer couldn’t help but smile. “You have a lovely family.”

“What of you?” he asked. “Do you have siblings?”

“Two older sisters and an older brother. All married. Two with children.”

“Children,” Robin said with a wistful smile. “They are a joy.”

“I agree.”

Robin seemed to consider his words. “Nick is a good lad.”

“Is that what you came to tell me?”

Robin blinked, then laughed. “And here I worried.”

“Worried about how my foot will feel against the back of your head?”

Robin rose and turned to look up at Nicholas who was standing on the step above him. “Nay, I was worried about this tender lass’s heart. And yours.”

“I’ll protect her heart,” Nicholas said.

Robin looked at him for a very long moment, then he looked at Jennifer. “And you?”

“I’ll protect my heart as well,” she said solemnly.

Robin’s jaw went slack, then he laughed. He started up the stairs and clapped Nicholas on the shoulder on his way by. “You, brother, have met your match in that one.”

Jennifer rose and turned. “Robin?”

Robin stopped and looked at her. “My lady?”

“I’ll protect his heart as well.”

“Of course you will,” Robin said with a smile. “Brave wench.”

Jennifer watched him disappear inside the hall, then looked at Nicholas. “What is it with you de Piaget men and the word wench ?”

“Term of affection,” Nicholas said. He handed her a bottle. “If you will carry that, I’ll carry the rest.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the strand,” Nicholas said. “Does that suit?”

She looked up at him. “Nicholas, I really think I should—”

“Hurry? I agree. It looks like rain.”

“No,” she said in exasperation, “I’m trying to tell you something.”

“Tell me later.”

“I need to tell you now.”

He paused on the step below her, turned, and looked at her very seriously. “Jennifer McKinnon, I am asking you to give me a simple fortnight. You grieve for your family. I am weary of the unpleasant lout I’ve been over the past pair of years. For a fortnight, let us make merry, enjoy the pleasures of Artane, and be at peace.”

“And then?” she asked softly.

“And then you will tell me what you need to tell me, I will tell you all my secrets, and then we will see if a morning in the lists is called for.”

“The lists?” she repeated. “What, over swords?”

“What else?” he said with a smile.

She closed her eyes briefly. It was so tempting. Two weeks of nothing but Nicholas’s company, with the world at bay and reality kept outside the gates. She looked at him, wanting it desperately but sure it would just end so badly ...

“Please,” he said quietly.

She blew her hair out of her face. “You had to say that, didn’t you?”

He gave her a quick smile, then turned. “Bring the bottle, wench,” he said, loping down the stairs. “We’ll have to run if we’re to have any dry lunch at all.”

Jennifer hesitated.

He turned around and smiled up at her. It was that de Piaget smile all right, though it wasn’t Robin‘s, which was full of good humor, or Miles’s, which was full of mischief. It was Nicholas’s and for the first time, she could see how he had earned a reputation for wooing dozens of women without an effort. It was a smile that made her feel as if the sun had come out just for her.

How could she not bask in it, even briefly?

“I will regret this,” she said with a sigh.

“Not possible,” he said. “I didn’t cook the lunch.”

She laughed in spite of herself.

After all, how much trouble could her heart get into in a fortnight?

She smiled and walked down the stairs to meet him.