Page 32 of When I Fall in Love (De Piaget #4)
N icholas walked on shaking legs down the stairs and along passageways until he reached his father’s solar. He wasn’t one to give in to feebleness, but he supposed when one was dealing with extraordinary circumstances, a little weakness in the legs might be permitted.
Jennifer’s sister and brother-in-law had come for her.
She would leave.
He shoved the thought away. He would face that possibility when he had to. First, he would deliver his message, then return to her and see if he could offer her aid.
He found all his brothers standing in a little cluster outside the solar door. He sent Montgomery and John scurrying off with a glare. Miles and Robin were not so easily dislodged.
“Her sister and that sister’s husband,” Robin said, his eyebrows going up in an annoying fashion. “Interesting.”
“Oh, aye,” Nicholas said grimly. “ ’Tis fascinating.”
“He looked to be Scottish.”
“He is. Laird of the clan MacDougal,” Nicholas said shortly. “I’m certain Father would let you in to offer your greetings if you could stop gaping like a slack-jawed idiot long enough to do it.”
Robin looked at him narrowly. “Your distress speaks.”
“Does it?” Nicholas snapped. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Robin exchanged a look with Miles, then turned back to Nicholas. “Why are you here?”
“Jennifer is unwell,” Nicholas said shortly. “I took her upstairs. I’m here to deliver those tidings, then return upstairs to see to her. Alone,” he added pointedly.
Robin put his hand on Nicholas’s shoulder. “I am desperate to go inside and visit but I will find Grandmère and keep her occupied for the next hour or two. That is how much I love you.”
Nicholas bent his head briefly, then looked at his brother. “My thanks, Rob,” he said quietly. “ ’Tis more than I deserve.”
“Aye, that’s why I’ll enjoy it so much,” Robin said, giving his shoulder a bracing pat or two. “I come out, yet again, smelling like a rose.”
He walked off, humming. Nicholas looked at Miles, who regarded him steadily.
“And you?” Nicholas asked. “What do you want?”
“To be of service to you and your lady,” Miles said simply. “What might I do?”
Nicholas shook his head slowly. “Truly, I am fortunate to have brothers such as you.”
“Your suffering has made you maudlin,” Miles said with a small smile, “but I will accept the compliment just the same. Where did you take Jenner?”
Nicholas flinched. Victoria had called her the same thing. If he hadn’t believed her before, that name would have convinced him. Unfortunately, he’d believed what she had told him without any aid and he was damned for it.
“To the northeast tower chamber. Where we’ve been training.” He looked at Miles seriously. “Guard the steps, but I beg you not to go up.” He paused. “She is not herself.”
“My solemn vow,” Miles said, putting his hand over his heart. He clapped Nicholas on the shoulder as well as he walked past him and disappeared down the passageway.
Nicholas faced the door, took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts, then entered. His father, Victoria, and Laird MacDougal were sitting comfortably in front of the hearth, chatting as if they’d known each other for years. Of course his father had no reason not to like them. They weren’t coming to take away his love.
And perhaps they hadn’t come to take Jennifer away.
Though he couldn’t imagine any other reason.
He smiled as best he could and made Jennifer’s kin a low bow. “There is no cause for alarm,” he began in Gaelic, trying to sound reassuring, “but Jennifer I think is overcome with joy at seeing you. She was unwell and asked that I take her upstairs. I think a moment or two alone will restore her to her normal self.”
He watched Connor assess him, rapidly and without mercy. The man then folded his hands together and rested his chin on his steepled fingers, but said nothing.
Victoria turned to look at him. “She’s not feeling well?”
“Nay, my lady.”
Victoria frowned. “Are you returning to check on her?”
“Aye.”
“She asked specifically to be left alone?”
“Aye.”
“And for you to return?”
“Aye.”
“Well,” she said, apparently softening a bit, “if you don’t mind taking care of her, I would be grateful for it:”
“It would be my honor.”
Victoria rose and came to look up at him. Nicholas had no trouble seeing the familial resemblance. Victoria was very beautiful as well, but she never would have been for him. Jennifer had a sweetness to her that he could see was hers alone, a sweetness much like a song that wouldn’t leave his mind but continued to captivate him long after the playing of it had ceased.
“You took care of her.”
Nicholas pulled himself back to the matter at hand. “From the beginning,” he said.
Victoria took his hand and held it for a moment. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “That eases my mind.”
Nicholas wished desperately that his mind could have been eased so quickly and with such little fanfare. He bowed over Victoria’s hand, then took his leave. Before he shut the door, he looked at his father briefly.
His father’s expression was very grave.
He supposed his might have been as well.
He turned and walked back down the passageway, up the stairs, and wound through other passageways until he ran bodily into his brother.
“Sorry,” Nicholas said. “I forgot I asked you to come.”
Miles smiled briefly. “Not to worry.”
“Is she weeping?”
“She was at first. She isn’t now.”
Nicholas pushed Miles out of his way and sprinted up the steps. He came to a teetering halt in the doorway. He was quite sure he would never forget the sight that greeted his eyes.
Jennifer was sitting on a stool. Laid out on the bench was some sort of viol, by the look of it, in a box the likes of which he had never before seen in his life. She was staring into space as if she no longer lived. Indeed, she was so still, he wondered if that were the case.
“Jennifer,” he said, stepping into the chamber.
She turned her head and focused on him with an effort. “Nicholas,” she whispered. “Shut the door, will you?”
He shut it.
“Bolt it.”
He did so.
She rose unsteadily to her feet. “Now, come hold me.”
He wasn’t about to refuse. He strode over to her and gathered her carefully into his arms. In truth, he was afraid she might break.
She started to weep.
It was a terrible thing to listen to.
She wept until he thought his heart would break right along with hers. She clung to him as sobs racked her body. He was quite certain he had never heard such sorrow. Ever.
He knew he never wanted to hear it again.
He let her weep. And when the waves of grief that washed over her seemed to lessen, he started to attempt what poor means he had of comforting weeping women. He rarely had the need to use them, but he wasn’t a dullard, either. He rubbed her back. Then he stroked her hair. When the time came that she was merely clinging to him, he began to occasionally kiss her hair and murmur soothing words.
It was a very, very long time that he stood there with her. Indeed, he saw that the afternoon had faded and the sky was losing the light of day. He didn’t let go, though, because she hung on to him as if he were the only thing that stood between her and an abyss of grief.
He couldn’t imagine it.
Finally, she was simply standing in his arms, breathing raggedly. He would have thought she slept, but for the way she periodically wiped her face with his cloth. Finally, she took a deep breath and let out a shuddering sigh.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Of course,” he said quietly. “Of course.”
She didn’t move. “Nicholas?”
“Aye?”
“I love you.”
He closed his eyes. Damnation, was he going to weep now as well? “I love you, too,” he said hoarsely.
She shivered and sighed again. “I think I need to sit.”
He released her and helped her sit upon one of the stools. He drew the other one close to her, then sat and looked at her.
She looked dreadful. Her eyes were bloodshot, her nose was red, her face was blotched.
He loved her to distraction just the same.
“That bad?” she asked with a grave smile.
He couldn’t lie.
Not anymore.
“Aye,” he said honestly. “But it matters not.”
She looked down at her hands. “Seeing Victoria was a shock.”
He imagined it was.
“I thought I would never see her again,” she added.
“What a fortunate, joyful reunion, then,” he said. There, that hadn’t come out as garbled as he’d feared.
She nodded, but she didn’t look up.
He could only imagine what she was thinking, what she was planning to say. He didn’t want to hear it. He wanted to blurt out that he didn’t give a damn what century she was born in or if her bloody sister had come to fetch her. He loved her and he wanted her to stay with him and be his wife.
No matter the cost.
“Nicholas?”
He wrenched his gaze to hers. “Aye?”
“You were swearing.”
He blew out his breath. “I’m going daft. Robin mutters under his breath as well. That I should be taking on his characteristics is a very unwholesome turn of events.”
She smiled faintly. “Yes, it is.” She sobered. “We need to talk.”
He sighed. “Aye, I suppose we must.” He paused. “You first?”
She got to her feet and walked around the chamber, then came and sat back down. “I’m not sure how to begin,” she said uneasily. “You won’t believe any of it.”
You would be surprised.
But he didn’t say as much.
“Is it the truth?” he asked, because he could think of nothing else to say. What was he to say? Jenner , my love, I already know it all because I was a bastard and didn’t tell you what I knew from the beginning.
He supposed that would not start things off very well.
“It is the truth,” she said seriously.
“Then begin at the beginning,” he said. “Or, begin with that bit of business there.” He nodded toward the viol. “I’ve never seen its like before. What is it?”
“A 1908 Degani violin.” She looked at him seriously. “1908.”
“1908,” he repeated. “Those numbers are unfamiliar to me. What do they mean?”
“It was the year the violin was made. The Year of Our Lord one thousand nine hundred and eight. It was made in Venice by a man named Degani.”
He’d understood, of course, and expected something of that sort, but still, hearing the numbers come from her lips was unwholesomely unsettling. He had to take a deep breath.
“Venice,” he said, grasping desperately for something familiar. “I love Venice.”
“Have you been to Venice?” she asked in astonishment.
“Of course,” he said. “Rob and I traveled there before he was wed. There are parts of the city that are quite new but still very lovely.”
“New,” she whispered. “Yes, I suppose so.”
He met her eyes. “But that year you mentioned. How is it possible that you have something from that unfathomable date?”
“It is possible because I was born after that date. In the Year of Our Lord’s Grace 1978.”
He wasn’t surprised, but again, the numbers were a hard, unyielding reality.
“Is that so,” he rasped.
“Yes, it is so,” she said quietly. “My father’s mother died and left me enough money to buy the violin. It was almost ninety years old when I bought it.”
“1978,” he managed. He met her eyes. “Seven hundred and fifty years from now.” “Yes.”
He took a very large breath. “I see.”
“There is more.” She paused. “Do you believe me?”
“I have no reason not to,” he said. “Go on.”
She took a deep breath herself. “I had come to England to visit my sister Megan. She is married to Gideon, the second son of the current Earl of Artane, Edward.”
“Your sister is wed to a de Piaget lad?” Nicholas wheezed.
“Yes and I had come here to see her.”
“Here at Artane.”
“Yes. I was out wandering the countryside, stepped into Ledenham’s abbey, and voilà , I was in 1229 and you were rescuing me.”
Well, it was a little startling to think that her sister was wed to what had to have been one of his nephews, dozens of generations removed, but he supposed he could accept the truth of that in time. He managed a nod. “I see.”
She frowned at him. “You’re being very calm about all this.”
“I have a strong stomach.”
“Well, then here’s some more. Apparently, and according to my, um, grandfather James MacLeod, who knows about these sorts of things, there are gates all over England and Scotland where you can go from one century to the next. And back again,” she added, “though that didn’t work for me. That’s what I tried to do when I went back to the abbey, and when I went north of Seakirk, and at the rocks near Artane.” She paused. “None of those gates through time worked.”
She fell silent. Nicholas clasped his hands together and thought furiously. Unfortunately, all his thoughts went in circles and landed in precisely the same spot. It was the same spot he’d been avoiding for a solid fortnight, since the very moment he’d begun to hope that if she fell in love with him, she wouldn’t want to leave.
He’d known that when she discovered what he knew, she would be angry. But now, hearing the anguish in her voice, he suspected she would be feeling something quite a bit stronger than anger.
She would never forgive him.
“But now Vic and Connor are here,” she said softly, “I know I can return home.”
Nicholas couldn’t look at her. He was afraid if he looked at her, he would weep. He sat there for far longer than he should have, but it was simply beyond him to speak. Finally, he gestured toward the violin.
“Will you play for me?” he asked.
“What?”
He looked up at her then. “Will you play for me?”
She looked completely taken aback. “Is that it? Aren’t you going to say anything else?”
“Play for me first,” he said quietly. “I beg you.”
He wanted to hear her play. Not only that, it would give him time to get his feet back underneath him—though he didn’t hold out much hope for that anytime soon.
He watched her slender fingers as she picked up a long stick. There were strands of something down one side. He frowned. He would have sworn it was horse hair, but what did he know of Future gear?
“It’s called a bow,” she said softly.
“Why?”
“I haven’t the foggiest idea right now,” she said shakily. “I’ll think about it later.”
Later. If there was a later.
She rubbed something on the bow, then picked up the violin itself. She ran the bow over the strings and tuned them. That much he knew from his own playing of something with strings.
But then her skill with playing and his took a radical parting of the ways.
He listened to a jaw-dropping number of notes and sounds that seemed to fly from her fingers like magic. He gaped at her, more astonished than he ever had been in his life—and he was by no means unlearned or innocent. He had traveled far and wide and seen a great many things. But he had never seen or heard anything like this before.
She stood up, plucked at her strings absently, tried a few melodies before she stopped. She took the violin and tucked it under her arm and bowed her head. He wondered if she was finished, then he watched her put the violin under her chin again, lift her bow and begin.
It was, he realized with sickening clarity, the beginning of the end for him.
The song was simple, but it held a beauty that left him completely overcome. The notes continued to sweep along, like a stream that had captured him and had no intention of letting him go. The music drew him in, wrapped him in an intimate embrace, warmed him and soothed him. He wanted it never to end.
And when it did, he bowed his head.
He knew what he had to do.
It was what he had feared from the beginning, what he had ignored for weeks, what he had dreaded from the moment he’d clapped eyes on her. Her song had convinced him he had no choice.
He would have to let her go.