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

J ennifer leaned on the casement of the deep, medieval window and stared out over the sea. The bed had been comfortable, the surroundings first class, and dinner the night before so good that even her father would have considered it worth the trip, yet still she was restless. Her dreams had alternated between a ruined keep at Wyckham and a luxuriously appointed Artane sporting medieval nobility. Both had been so vivid that she suspected she hadn’t truly slept at all.

Obviously, being in a castle that was that drenched in history was having a very deleterious effect on her poor, overworked brain.

She straightened and turned to look for her keys. What she needed was to get out of the house. Maybe she would take another trip to Wyckham and get that out of her system. That and a hearty order of fish and chips in the village would no doubt cure what ailed her.

She made certain her violin was tucked between the armoire and wall, locked her room behind her, and headed down the hallway to look for Megan.

She paused in front of another doorway and knocked softly. Her sister opened the door and smiled.

“Come on in and enjoy nap time with me,” Megan said.

“Only for a minute,” Jennifer said, slipping inside. “I don’t want to wake Georgianna.”

“I love it when she’s awake, but there are times—” Megan shook her head. “Peace and quiet is very nice.”

Jennifer laughed softly. “I’m sure it is, even if she is quite possibly the most perfect child ever spawned.”

“And Duncan isn’t?” Megan asked with a grin. “Thomas wouldn’t like to hear that about his firstborn.”

“Duncan MacLeod McKinnon is trouble and Thomas knows it,” Jennifer said promptly. “But he’s a dreamy baby as well. You both are very lucky.”

Megan nodded. Jennifer didn’t have to hear the words to know what she was thinking. When is it going to happen for you? It was a good question, but not one she wanted to answer right then. She smiled at her sister.

“I’m going to take off and go do a little sightseeing.”

“Really? But you just got here.”

“I know,” Jennifer said, “but I’m restless.”

“If you say so,” Megan said with a smile. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”

Jennifer paused. Megan would probably think she was crazy—then again, maybe she wouldn’t. Her sister wasn’t unfamiliar with things of a supernatural nature.

“On my way down yesterday, I stopped at this castle called Wyckham,” she admitted. “I felt like I’d been there before, but I’m pretty sure I haven’t. Weird, huh?”

“Trust me, nothing strikes me as weird anymore. What happened exactly?”

“Nothing really. I just can’t seem to get the place out of my mind.” She paused. “You wouldn’t know anything about it, would you?”

“Actually, I would,” Megan said. “It belonged to Nicholas de Piaget, the second son of Rhys de Piaget, Rhys being the man who built Artane. I think it was given to Nicholas as a gift for his knighting.”

“That’s a pretty good present.”

“Rhys was apparently a pretty generous guy.”

“You’re a veritable font of de Piaget genealogical facts, aren’t you?” Jennifer teased.

“It’s serious business here. It wouldn’t do to miss any details.”

“Anything else I should know?”

“Nothing about Wyckham,” Megan said, “but I do know a little about Nicholas. I suppose you should take it with a grain of salt, but from what I understand, he was just about the most perfect knight in existence during his day. Name your knightly virtue and he had it. And he was gorgeous as well.”

“What a paragon.”

“He sounds like one, doesn’t he,” Megan agreed. “He’s had a lot of competition over the years from his cousins, but no one seems to have topped him. How does his castle look?”

“It’s a wreck,” Jennifer said. “But I’ll think kind thoughts about him while I’m there, just for you. And I’ll be back in time for dinner.”

“Do. Gideon’s... uncle will be here with his family. You’ll like him.”

Jennifer had started for the door, but she turned back around. “I think I heard an um in there.”

“Well ...”

“Megan, I just spent a month with James MacLeod,” Jennifer said. “Really, how much more um can it get than that?”

Megan smiled. “Meet Kendrick tonight and decide for yourself.”

“I will.” She paused, then suddenly found herself turning back to give Megan a quick, tight hug. “I’ll be back soon,” she said, suddenly blinking hard.

“Jenner,” Megan said in surprise, “are you all right?”

“Not enough sleep,” Jennifer said confidently. “I’m sure of it.”

She was so sure of it, she bolted from Megan’s room and ran through the castle and out the front door before she did anything else ridiculous, like burst into tears. She was just going for the day, not the rest of her life. The sudden desire to hang on to her sister like she’d never see her again obviously had something to do with one too many of Patrick MacLeod’s wild green salads.

She left Artane, made a quick trip for some gas and a snack, then headed on her way to Wyckham. She drove back down the Al and turned off onto the proper road as if she’d been doing it all of her life. She supposed she must have recognized landmarks from her trip the day before. She didn’t remember, though, seeing the sign for Ledenham Abbey.

Why was it just the sight of the sign made her shiver?

Maybe Lord Ledenham had been one of Nicholas de Piaget’s foes; it might be useful to take a look at his abbey while she was there. Maybe she would learn something new to add to the de Piaget lore and win Megan a few brownie points.

She stopped near the ruins and parked. She put her cell phone, keys, and ID in various pockets, had a brief swig of Lilt, and got out of the car. The place was deserted, but she locked the car anyway.

She wandered over to what was left of the walls. She wondered what it had looked like finished. Actually, she couldn’t say she cared; the place was giving her the creeps. She stepped over one of the low walls, then found out why.

“Yer keys, miss, if ye please.”

Jennifer turned around and gaped at the would-be thief. All right, it was one thing to get robbed in Manhattan. But in jolly old England?

It was just plain wrong.

Jennifer looked at him, considered, then jammed her hands in her pockets.

“No,” she said.

“No?” he repeated, looking a little stunned.

“No.”

He pulled out a knife from the back of his jeans. Jennifer knew she shouldn’t have been surprised, but she was, and surprised enough that she stumbled backward. In fact, she stumbled backward several steps. When she stopped, she realized that perhaps she shouldn’t have.

She was standing on a time gate.

There was no point in wondering how she knew that. It was all that MacLeod blood running through her veins, courtesy of her mother. All sorts of otherworldly things went on in that part of her family tree.

Take her grandfather, by means of a very convoluted family tree, James MacLeod. It was a poorly kept family secret that he was actually a fourteenth-century Scottish laird who had fallen in love with a woman from the future and come forward through time to live with her. It was also no secret that on the wall above his desk in his thinking room was a map that boasted scores of red Xs with names scrawled next to them. Byzantium, Ancient Greece, Colonial America. Seventeenth-century Barbados had been underlined several times, as if it had particularly pleasant meaning.

She wished she could only speculate, but unfortunately she knew what they all meant. They were gates from present-day Scotland and England back to an ever-growing list of other time periods Jamie investigated as often as possible.

His poor wife.

“Oy, let me go!”

Jennifer pulled her gaze back to her would-be assailant. He was being held on to by three older gentlemen: two Scots and an Englishman. Jennifer recognized them as well: Ambrose MacLeod and Hugh McKinnon, her ancestors several generations removed; and one Fulbert de Piaget, of the Elizabethan de Piagets.

Ghosts, all three.

She looked a little more closely, then blinked in surprise. Gone were the lethal-looking swords they usually carried. In their places were ... well... wands.

Fairy godmother wands.

“What,” Jennifer managed in the least garbled tone possible, “are you doing here?”

“Oh, just out for a little—oof—jaunt,” Ambrose huffed, struggling to keep his choke hold on her would-be attacker and hold on to his sparkling silver wand at the same time.

“Traveling keeps ye young,” Hugh offered enthusiastically, wrapping himself around the young man’s leg. His wand was pink with a sparkly star at the end and scads of curling streamers. She wondered if he’d poached it from some poor little girl at Disneyland.

She wouldn’t have been surprised.

“Madness, this,” Fulbert grumbled, waving his jet-black wand around in a manly fashion. “By the saints, ye young knave, be still!”

“But,” Jennifer began, and started to step forward. The ground beneath her became unsteady enough that she went down onto her hands and knees. She looked down in surprise. She had sunk a good two inches into mud that hadn’t been there a heartbeat before.

Then she looked up.

Well, apparently more conversation with her ghostly fairy godfathers was going to be unnecessary.

And impossible.

They were gone. In their places were several men in rather authentic-looking medieval peasant garb, gaping at her as if she were the ghost.

Oh, and it was raining.

“Nope,” she said, heaving herself back to her feet. “No, this isn’t going to happen to me.” She wiped her muddy hands on her jeans, planted her feet on the very muddy ground, and wished herself back to the arms of her would-be assailant. “No time traveling,” she announced to Fate.

Her only answer was a drizzle.

Before she could say anything else, she found herself dragged off by Middle Age goons, resisting as best she could, to a place well away from the time gate. She tried to break away, but her captors jerked her arms behind her and tied her hands together.

A man stepped out of the pack. She supposed, based on the quality of his clothes, that he was their leader. He looked at her, then barked at one of his flunkies who started to gather up wood. Jennifer frowned. Was he cold? Admittedly the weather was rather nasty and the morning wherever, or whenever, she’d landed was gloomy enough for a good blaze, but did it merit the kind of fire they were kindling?

She couldn’t help but notice how the leader continued to look at her as if he’d just found an endless box of something special under the Christmas tree.

Things went downhill rapidly from there.

Though her command of French was not good, and her command of what she supposed was the medieval Norman version of it was even worse, she suspected she was hearing brief instructions concerning herself. She understood quite clearly that they were going to have a little frankfurter roast.

And she was going to be the hot dog.

“I’m not a witch,” she offered.

Apparently her opinion was not needed. Peasant types continued to feed the fire and Mr. Inquisition continued to look at her as if he couldn’t wait to do a little experimenting and see if she burned.

Well, not if she could help it.

She slumped to her knees. When her captors loosened their grips in surprise, she leaped to her feet and bolted. It seemed like as good a plan as any.

She made it farther than she thought she would, but not far enough. She was grabbed by one arm and spun around. She managed to knee one man in the groin and head-butt the other in the nose, but that only made her captors very angry—and her very light-headed. Within moments, she found herself back where she’d started, only this time the leader of the pack was looking a little annoyed, her guards were definitely annoyed, and she knew she was in trouble.

Who would have thought a little sightseeing could be so dangerous? Damn it, where was that knight in shining armor when she really needed him?

Mr. Inquisition held a long, thin branch out in front of him like a sword and started toward her. His smile was twisted; obviously whatever he planned to do, he planned to enjoy.

Jennifer wondered briefly just exactly what part of her he would set fire to first, then she dismissed the thought as unproductive. She started to blow at the end of the branch in hopes that she might get lucky.

And then came the sound of a voice from her left. It was a commanding voice. It was a voice that her tormentor apparently recognized because he cursed viciously and whirled around to face the newcomer. Jennifer looked as well, supposing that maybe her captor had a boss who wanted to reserve the fun for himself.

Then again, perhaps not.

She looked across the glade and felt her jaw drop. There at the edge of the clearing, sitting atop an enormous horse, was the most handsome man she had ever seen. He was blond, powerfully built, casually dressed, with a face that would have been considered too chiseled if it hadn’t been for a refinement that took the hardest of edges off his features. He was sitting on a pale horse, which might have been called white if she had really used her imagination, and he looked like a knight. Well, he wasn’t wearing armor, but he was carrying a sword. That sword wasn’t pointed at her.

This was definitely a step in the right direction.

Mr. Inquisition started toward the newcomer with his burning stick in his hand. Before Jennifer could open her mouth to call out a warning, the knight had slid off his horse and used his sword to calmly bat the stick out of her captor’s hand. He picked up the flaming brand, tossed it back on the fire, and casually ground a few smoking embers under his boot.

Jennifer’s mouth went a little dry. Gorgeous and a good citizen. Did it get any better than that?

He then pointed his sword at her captors. They dropped her arms and ran away.

Well, apparently it could.

Mr. Inquisition either thought more of his abilities than his men did of their own or he was just dumber, because he drew his sword with a flourish and took up a fighting stance. Jennifer fumbled around behind her and tried to untie her hands. She felt someone undo the rope and whipped around to see who, just in case she needed to follow up the thanks with a quick elbow to the nose. To her surprise she saw a teenager, probably sixteen or seventeen, standing behind her, watching her with absolutely enormous eyes. Though he was dark-haired, in all other aspects he looked so much like the blond man that she knew they had to be brothers.

“Thanks,” she said.

He looked at her blankly.

What the hell, she thought with abandon. “Thank you,” she tried again in Gaelic.

“You’re welcome,” he answered without hesitation.

Jennifer would have taken the time to be surprised, but the clang of swords made her jump. She turned back around to watch the swordfight. Actually, there really wasn’t much to watch. Mr. Inquisition was making a nuisance of himself in the style of an irritating terrier while her gorgeous rescuer was trying but failing to keep his yawns in check. Sheer boredom apparently got the better of him because he slapped Inquisition’s sword aside and punched him in the nose. Inquisition clutched his face and howled. Her rescuer sighed, then caught him neatly under the chin.

Inquisition crumpled like a length of fine silk, slithering to the ground with an elegance she wouldn’t have expected.

The rest of his flunkies, who were hovering under the trees—undoubtedly to watch the bloodbath—fled without a backward glance.

Jennifer managed to swallow as her knight in no armor but possessing an almost-white horse came across the glade toward her. She wasn’t short, but he was at least a hand taller than she was. He had a set of shoulders just made for a girl to lean her head on and a belted waist any bodybuilder would have killed to call his own. She cast about quickly for something intelligent to say before her mind went completely south.

“Um,” was all she could manage.

Spectacular.

And that was the word for his face, not her witty repartee.

He said something to his brother, his brother answered, but Jennifer didn’t even bother to try to decipher. She was just too damn busy staring at male perfection and feeling fragile.

And then she realized where she was. She was standing in the Middle Ages, with mud slathered on her hands, knees, feet, and jeans, with her hair falling into her face and no doubt curling madly everywhere else thanks to the drizzle, and she had only one decision to make.

How fast to get back over to that time gate and get home.

She took a deep breath—damn, he even smelled good—and turned to look at his brother.

“I have to go home.”

The young man nodded, still as wide-eyed as before.

Jennifer smiled. “Tell your brother thanks for the rescue.”

He dutifully translated. Jennifer made the mistake of thinking she could just add her own smile to the words and be on her way. She looked up into her rescuer’s pale eyes and had a moment’s hesitation.

Why was it she couldn’t find a guy like this in Manhattan? At this point, she would have settled for a guy like this in England.

Life just wasn’t fair.

She pulled herself together, smiled, then turned and walked away before she indulged in any more useless speculation. She went to stand next to the fire. Fortunately for her, the precise spot where she’d been standing hadn’t been covered by the wood and she had no problem placing herself on it and getting down to business. She had no doubt the gate would work and take her back to the correct place. It was what Jamie always said. Think about where you want to go and the gate will take you there.

She took a deep breath and concentrated all her thoughts on getting back home.

She waited.

Nothing happened.

Well, no reason to panic. She would just have to try harder.

I want to go home.

Jennifer frowned. Still nothing was happening. Well, perhaps that was to be expected. After all, she was a little distracted by the fire and a lot distracted by the gorgeous man behind her who probably thought she was out of her mind. She closed her eyes, blocked out everything except thoughts of three grandfatherly ghosts holding on to a shrieking thug and her car, which was locked 200 feet away from where she was standing. In it was that bottle of Lilt and a Kit Kat she’d bought at the gas station. There was nothing like British chocolate to really make a girl feel like the calories were worth it.

A hissing sound almost made her jump out of her skin. She looked over to see that the fire beside her had been put out courtesy of a bucket of water. The blond man set down the bucket, held up his hands, and retreated to the far side of the glade. He stood there with Brother Gaelic and another brother who had to have been Brother Gaelic’s twin. They were all watching her with expressions ranging from disbelief to, in the case of her rescuer, not much expression at all.

She wondered if now would be a good time to feel really, really stupid.

She waved.

Brother Gaelic waved back, but his twin slapped his hand down. A fight ensued. Their elder brother ignored them. He merely watched her with his arms folded across his chest. She noticed that he’d put away his sword. That probably meant that there weren’t any more witch-hunters in the area and she could get down to business without worrying about being attacked. Very nice of him to give her that luxury.

She turned her back on all of them. She put her fingers in her ears and concentrated on the job at hand.

Home.

Please.

Time passed. In fact, enough time passed that the mud dried on her hands. She unstuck her fingers from her ears. There was silence. She sighed a huge sigh of relief, then froze. Silence really didn’t mean anything when she was standing next to a pile of smoldering sticks.

She felt a light touch on her shoulder and jumped at least half a foot. She turned around, her heart beating at her throat. It was Brother Gaelic.

“Lady,” he said hesitantly, “we wondered, my brothers and I, if you would care to come with us?” He looked back over his shoulder. His older brother made no move, but simply remained there, watching silently. Brother Gaelic turned back to her. “My brother’s hall is not far from here.”

Jennifer considered her options: stay or go. The gate obviously wasn’t working for her, but why not? She quickly reviewed everything James MacLeod had ever told her about gates in the grass, gates in compost heaps, and gates in clutches of rock. Powerful gates, less powerful gates, one-way tickets, and fickle fairy rings—Jamie had used them all. She suspected that whatever time gate lay in what she could now see was the beginnings of Ledenham’s abbey was one of the fickle kind.

She supposed she could have camped there until it gave up and let her go home, but who knew how long that would take? And who knew how long Mr. Inquisition would remain unconscious? Probably not long enough for her to have any meaningful conversations with Fate.

Maybe a little visit to a local castle until she could get her bearings and give the gate some time to get itself together wasn’t such a bad idea.

She smiled at the wide-eyed young man standing in front of her. “Yes, thank you,” she said. “I would be very grateful for that.”

He nodded, then turned away.

“Wait,” she said. “What’s your name?”

“Montgomery de Piaget,” he said, turning back and smiling a little. He pointed toward his brothers. “That is my brother John. And my older brother Nicholas.”

Nicholas de Piaget.

Nicholas de Piaget?

She could hardly believe her ears. What were the odds of running into the very guy in the past that her sister had been singing the praises of in the future?

“We’re for his castle,” Montgomery added, no doubt blissfully unaware at just how freaked out she was. “ ’Tis called Wyckham.”

I know, she started to say, but she found she couldn’t say anything at all.

“Can you ride?” Montgomery asked. “Lady ... ?”

“Jennifer,” she said faintly. “My name is Jennifer McKinnon.”

“Of course, my lady,” Montgomery said. “Now, if you’ll allow it, you shall have my horse and I’ll ride with John.”

“Sure,” Jennifer said. “Great.”

She forced herself to follow him across the glade. What she desperately wanted was for all the craziness swirling around her to stop just long enough for her to get a handle on what was happening, but she supposed that was impossible. All she could do was ride to Wyckham and hope for the best. Maybe she would have a chance there to sit and think. Maybe her visit would include an opportunity to observe Nicholas de Piaget, owner of Wyckham and the embodiment of all knightly virtues, at close range for a few days.

Purely in the interest of adding to the store of de Piaget genealogical lore, of course.

She realized, feeling a little light-headed, that such had been her thought in stopping at the abbey. She supposed that maybe she should let Megan do her own dabbling in her husband’s family history.

It was safer that way.

Then, blessing James MacLeod for insisting that she learn to ride during her stay, she accepted the reins to Montgomery’s horse. She started to put her foot in the stirrup only to realize that a pair of cupped hands was there for her use. She looked up in surprise to find Nicholas de Piaget standing not a foot away from her.

Well, the historians hadn’t exaggerated his handsomeness, at least.

Jennifer fanned herself with the reins as if she’d planned to all along.

He waited for her, possessing a seemingly endless amount of patience. Honestly, Jennifer couldn’t have cared less about his patience. She was too busy being dazzled by his looks.

Oh, this was just so bad on so many levels.

She had no time for a distraction of this magnitude. She had a future to get back to. Her earlier Manhattan wishes aside, she did not want a guy who carried a sword. Victoria had nothing but trouble with Connor and his insistence on secreting weapons on various parts of himself. And that was one huge sword Nicholas was wearing at his side.

And then there was the rest of him. Too handsome by far. Definitely too buff. How did a girl have that kind of perfection hanging around every day and get anything done? Nope, he was not for her. She had a career to return to, a new apartment to find, new restaurants to scout out near said new apartment, noise and exhaust fumes and congestion to ignore. She had an appointment with Charles Salieri in a month to discuss her soon-to-be crushing performance schedule. Yessiree, she had lots to do and no time for medieval nobility.

Nicholas only waited.

Well, she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon except up on that horse, so she put her foot in his hands and found herself tossed up into the saddle as if she’d been a rag doll.

Nicholas stroked the horse’s mane briefly, paused as if he intended to speak, then shook his head and walked away. Jennifer didn’t dare look at him for fear she would embarrass herself by wheezing.

Nicholas de Piaget.

It was just too much to be believed. Unfortunately, the medieval boys doubled up on the medieval horse in front of her, and the medieval reins she was holding in her own hands wouldn’t let her do anything else but believe it. She closed her eyes briefly, then let out a shaky breath.

Well, she’d wanted to see Wyckham again. She hadn’t expected to see it—and its owner—in all its medieval glory. Maybe there was a method to Fate’s madness.

She certainly hoped so, because she didn’t want to think about what was in store for her if Fate had gotten it wrong.