Page 9 of When I Fall in Love (De Piaget #4)

J ennifer stood at the doorway of the steward’s bedroom and looked at it one last time. It had been a pretty decent place as far as medieval accommodations went. Not quite as fancy as the hotel in Elizabethan England she’d stayed at with Connor and Victoria while they’d been rescuing her grandmother, but she wasn’t going to complain. The room had been very nice, she was very grateful, and now she was very ready to get home. With any luck, she would be back at Artane before sunset and then she could have a shower, a Kit Kat, and go to bed on a mattress that didn’t crunch when she rolled over.

She left Montgomery’s clothes folded on the trunk, then turned and walked into the great hall. She felt better already, being back in her jeans, with her cell phone in one pocket and her keys in the other. Even her credit cards were a comforting thing in her back pocket. Modern life, here I come.

Now, all she had to do was hitch a ride back to the abbey.

She walked into the kitchen. Nicholas was sitting there on a stool near the fire, looking like Cinderella at her most bummed. He didn’t acknowledge that he’d heard her come in, so she simply stood there at the end of the table and allowed herself the luxury of a last look.

She almost wished she hadn’t.

Why did the man have to be so handsome? Why did he have to keep showing her little bits of something very chivalrous underneath all those grumbles? Why couldn’t she just go sit down next to him, take his hand, and talk about nothing like normal people did?

He looked up suddenly from his contemplation of the porridge kettle. When he saw her clothes, all expression disappeared from his face.

“Are you off, then?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yes. I need to get back to the abbey.”

“Do you have kin meeting you there?”

“It’s entirely possible,” she said.

He said nothing. In fact, he wasn’t even moving. He just sat there, staring at her silently. Jennifer sighed. Obviously, chivalry was back on hiatus.

“Would you help me get there?” she asked.

He hesitated, then turned to look back at the fire. He was silent for quite a while and seemed to be struggling with something. Finally, he spoke.

“Nay.”

She felt her mouth fall open. “What?”

He shot her a look that just about singed her where she stood. She wasn’t sure if it was anger, irritation, or possessiveness. It had come and gone too fast for her to decide what it had been, though it made her wish desperately for a stool.

“Nay,” he said hoarsely. “I will not help you.”

Jennifer wasn’t sure if she felt flattered or foolish. Did he want her to stay or did he want her to go?

Did it matter?

She let out a shaky breath. “All right. Well, thanks for all your help.”

He didn’t answer.

She turned around and walked unsteadily from the kitchen. Maybe she could get directions from Miles. After all, how far could it be? Even if it took her eight hours, she would be to the abbey well before dark. She could drink from streams and eat quite nicely things Patrick MacLeod would have enjoyed.

Besides, what did it matter what she ate when she’d be at Artane by nightfall?

She walked through the great hall, out the front door, and down the steps. Montgomery, John, and Miles were talking to Petter. Jennifer walked across to them. Montgomery stared at her in surprise.

“Your clothes,” he said faintly. “You’ve changed.”

“I’m going home,” she said with a cheerfulness she didn’t feel. She turned to Miles. “You said the abbey was a little north and a lot east. Is that right?”

“Aye, but isn’t Nick taking you?” Miles asked, looking even more surprised than Montgomery.

“No,” she said simply. “He’s busy.”

Miles’s expression darkened. “Did he say you nay?”

“It’s okay,” Jennifer said. “He’s got things to do.”

“Then I’ll take you.”

“Nay, you will not,” a deep voice said from behind her. “You will not, and neither will Montgomery nor John.”

Jennifer was unsurprised. She only would have been surprised if Nicholas had allowed his brothers to help her. Epitome of chivalry? Yes, occasionally, but would she have several things to say about the rest of his history when she arrived back at Artane that night. She smiled at Miles.

“I’ll be fine,” she said.

Miles put his hand on his sword, but Jennifer quickly shook her head.

“Really. I like to walk.”

And before Nicholas could say anything to stop her, she gave his brothers quick hugs, then walked away. She didn’t dare look back. Then again, maybe it wouldn’t have mattered if she had looked because her eyes were so full of tears, she couldn’t have seen anything anyway.

She did manage a glance at the nonexistent gate as she walked through it and wondered if Nicholas would be so grumpy over the course of his lifetime that he just wouldn’t have the wherewithal to put a gate in, or if his descendants were so irritated with his grumpiness that they wouldn’t bother.

Maybe a little light reading in the Artane library was called for after all.

“Be warned,” Nicholas called after her, “’tis a goodly distance—oof!”

Jennifer dragged her sleeve across her eyes, then looked behind her to see Nicholas not twenty feet away, in the midst of being tackled by John and Montgomery.

“Go with her Miles!” Montgomery shouted.

Nicholas managed to shake off his younger brothers and grab Miles before Miles could get through the gates. Miles slugged him in the stomach. Nicholas doubled over, but straightened and treated Miles to the same pleasure, though not with nearly as much enthusiasm as his younger brother had used.

The burden of being the elder, apparently.

Jennifer was tempted to stay and watch the brawl, but after Miles, John, and Montgomery piled on top of Nicholas, she suspected it wouldn’t be very interesting for very long. She waved, then turned and walked off.

She would miss them.

She walked quickly. It made her feel purposeful. It also might have the added bonus of keeping her from getting eaten by a wild animal, though she didn’t think there were all that many wild animals around—with the exception of Lord Ledenham.

She walked until the sounds of battle faded and all she could hear was the sound of her own footfalls. It was very easy to believe that she was just out for a stroll in the woods on a very quiet day. Why couldn’t that day be in modem England? She could imagine it so—

Until she heard the crunching of a branch a fair distance behind her.

She spun around. Nicholas was thirty feet behind her. His hair was mussed and his clothes askew. He hunched over with his hands on his thighs, apparently trying to catch his breath.

“What do you want?” she asked shortly.

He heaved himself upright. “You must go east,” he said, panting lightly. “Then bear north after several leagues.”

“I appreciate that.”

And with that, she turned and continued on her way down the road. She looked down at her shoes. Such normal, modern-looking shoes. She could have been going anywhere in those shoes: hiking in the English countryside or preparing to return to her car and enjoy that Kit Kat and Lilt she’d left in the front seat. Was it possible that her car was still there, or had Megan come and gotten it? Megan would find that hard, considering Jennifer had the keys in her pocket.

She slowed to a stop, feeling as if she wasn’t alone. She looked over her shoulder.

Nicholas was still following thirty feet behind her.

All right, this was starting to get a little ridiculous. She turned around and put her hands on her hips.

“What are you doing?”

“Following you.”

“You could help me, you know, instead of just trailing along after me.”

“I don’t want to help you,” he said, through gritted teeth.

“Why not?”

“I just don’t.”

“Then get lost.”

He tilted his head. “I beg your pardon?”

“Unless you’re going to walk with me the entire way, why don’t you just go back home and leave me alone?”

He folded his arms over his chest and glared at her. “It goes against my grain to leave a lady unaided.”

“Then help me!”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “I cannot.”

She threw up her hands in frustration. “I don’t understand you!”

He only glared at her and said nothing.

“Jerk,” Jennifer muttered under her breath as she turned and walked away.

“How was that?” he called.

“Jerk!” she bellowed over her shoulder, then stomped off.

Half an hour later, she looked behind her, but there was no sign of him.

It was just as well. It was obvious to her now that Artane genealogists had been completely wrong about him. Paragon of chivalry? Ha! She set her face forward and stomped off enthusiastically.

She stomped for quite some time. In time, though, she found that stomping was too much of an effort, so she settled for walking. She wasn’t a slow walker, but it was late afternoon when she finally found her way to the abbey—and she supposed she was lucky to have managed it. East and then a little north was not exactly an accurate set of directions. It was nothing but dumb luck that she wound up at the right place.

But that was okay. All she had to do was get there, stop on the X that marked the spot, then she would be back in the future where she belonged.

It was for damn sure she didn’t belong in the past.

She walked right into the abbey construction site, then came to a screeching halt.

The abbey was there.

But the gate wasn’t.

Jennifer could hardly believe her eyes. The patch of ground where she had come through was completely dug up. She felt a little queasy as she wandered over to the enormous pit that had once been her time gate. She stared down at it in horror.

Just what in the hell was she supposed to do now?

She wasn’t one to panic, but she found herself very near to it. She took several deep breaths and tried to think rationally. The exact patch of dirt was gone, but who was to say that the gate wasn’t part of some cosmic well that would extend down several hundred feet?

Before she could second guess herself, she jumped.

She realized, as she landed, that she had only gone down about six feet. Maybe Ledenham hadn’t finished digging yet. She climbed over a very uneven floor and went to stand on the spot where she’d found the gate before. At least she thought it was the right spot. Too bad it didn’t feel like anything but dirt.

She tried several more spots, but with the same result each time.

She stood in that pit for a very, very long time, hoping against hope that something would change, that she would feel that tingle in the air, that a magic red X would appear on the appropriate spot.

She realized, after even more time, that someone was watching her. She looked up, half expecting to see Nicholas.

It was Ledenham.

“Ah,” he purred, “the witch has returned. What rituals will she perform this time?”

She decided immediately that it had been better when she hadn’t been able to understand him.

“None,” she said shortly. “Why don’t you go away?”

He looked at her in astonishment. “You didn’t speak my tongue before.”

“I was torturing you,” she said briefly.

He smiled coldly. “Perhaps I should return the favor. Shall I light a fire in that pit there, or shall you come back out and we’ll see to it here?”

That wasn’t much of a choice. Well, at least if she was out of the pit she could perhaps try another spot and maybe find her way home again. She held up her hands.

He pulled her up. She almost thanked him, but before she really found her feet, he had wrenched her arm behind her back and jerked one of her fingers out of joint.

The pain was so intense, she couldn’t even gasp. All she could do was stand there, her mouth hanging open, and try to stay conscious.

Ledenham urged her forward. She went, only because each time she hesitated, he wrenched her finger again to inspire her.

The only plus was that her dislocated finger was on her bow hand. When she was back home, that would be a good thing. A little physical therapy and she would be good as new.

Ledenham handed her over to his goons, then went off to do his usual bit with wood. Jennifer stood there with one man holding her by the arm and another holding her by her dislocated finger. She could do no more than try to hold on to reality.

She didn’t think she was doing a very good job.

Maybe she was in shock. Pain did that to a person, didn’t it? She would have given that more thought, but Ledenham began to swear and that distracted her. She looked up.

Nicholas had ridden into the clearing.

“Oh, great,” she managed, “ now the calvary has arrived.”

Her captors immediately dropped her arms and scurried away. Ledenham, as usual, was not as wise. He ran at Nicholas with his blazing piece of wood. Nicholas kicked it out of Ledenham’s hand.

Ledenham produced a crossbow and shot a bolt at Nicholas. It stuck in his upper arm. Jennifer winced as Nicholas jerked it free, threw it across the glade, then leaned over and backhanded Ledenham across the face. Ledenham stumbled, hopped around, then fell backward into the pit of his own making.

Jennifer wondered if he’d broken his neck. She didn’t wonder long, though, because curses soon floated up from the hole. She looked blearily at Nicholas and saw that he was riding toward her with his hand outstretched. Oh sure, now he was going to ply some of that infamous chivalry on her—

She shrieked as he grabbed her by the hand and pulled her up in front of him on his horse.

“What—” he began, then he held up her hand. He swore. “Hold on,” he said, as he kicked his horse into a gallop.

“Do I have a choice?” she gasped.

“Do you want a choice?”

“Not really,” she wheezed in a voice that sounded a little unhinged even to her ears.

Nicholas only tightened his arms around her. Jennifer concentrated on staying conscious. It was, she had to admit, a most unpleasant trip. She wanted to enjoy the ride, but her hand felt like someone had smashed it with a sledgehammer and it was starting to rain again. Oh, and she was apparently stuck in medieval England.

With a man who really didn’t seem to like her very much.

It seemed only a short time later that they were thundering into the courtyard. Nicholas stopped his horse in front of the stables, then swung down and held up his hands for her. Jennifer made the mistake of putting her hands on his shoulders so he could help her down, but since she was halfway to the ground before the pain went from her finger to her brain, she continued on her way.

She only realized she’d fainted after she’d come to and found herself in Nicholas’s arms, being carried into the great hall.

“Tend my horse,” he threw at Miles, who had come to open the door.

“What befell her?”

“Something you can cross swords with me for in the morning,” Nicholas said shortly.

“Brother, you are a horse’s—”

“My horse!” Nicholas bellowed. “Montgomery, fetch me wine. John, go stoke the fire.”

Jennifer heard their questions, heard their exclamations of dismay, but she couldn’t respond. She also couldn’t bring herself to think about what sort of methods of healing were popular in medieval Wyckham.

In fact, considering that she was stuck, unwanted, and now unwell, she decided it was best to just not think at all.

She closed her eyes and didn’t think about the tears that seemed determined to ooze from underneath her eyelids. The gate was destroyed. Gone. Unrecoverable. She would never get back home, never see her family again, never touch another violin.

She suspected it might qualify for the worst-day-of-her-life award.

Nicholas set her down carefully in the comfortable chair with the cushion, but she just didn’t care. She buried her face in her good hand and wept.

She cried for a very long time.

There came a point when she found that her finger hurt too badly to allow her the luxury of any more tears. She realized at the same point that a hand was gently stroking her hair. She lifted her head up and found that Nicholas was sitting on a stool he had set down right in front of her. He was watching her with a very grave expression.

He was also the one stroking her hair.

“I should have accompanied you,” he said quietly.

She dragged her sleeve across her face and had a better look at him. “Why didn’t you?”

“Because he is a horse’s arse,” Miles offered.

Jennifer would have smiled at Miles but she caught the look Nicholas gave him. Miles held up his hands in surrender and backed away.

“I’ll check on the horses. Again.”

“You do that,” Nicholas said curtly. Then he turned back to look at her. “Perhaps I’ll tell you later, but not now.” He paused, and there was pity in his eyes. “Your kin were not there.”

“No.”

He nodded slowly. “I see.” He hesitated, then reached for her hand and took it in both his own. “I’m sorry for this.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” she croaked. She looked down at her hand, then squeezed her eyes shut. There was something very unwholesome about staring at a finger that wasn’t bending the right way.

“Will you let me tend it?”

She opened her eyes to look at him. “Can you?”

“Aye.”

“Is it broken?”

“I daresay not. Pulled out of joint more likely. I’ve seen worse. On myself, actually. It won’t be pleasant to put it back into place.”

“You know, that’s more than you’ve said to me the entire time I’ve been here.”

He pursed his lips. “Aye, well, as my brother will tell you, I am a horse’s arse.”

She almost smiled. It figured that the very moment when she would have killed for something strong to drink and her hand hurt so badly she wanted to cut it off, Nicholas de Piaget would be charming.

It just wasn’t fair. There she was, stuck hundreds of years out of her own century, just itching for another round of bitter weeping and desperate for some painkillers, and all she had to look at was a man who was so damned beautiful, she could hardly catch her breath.

“You know,” she said, “you have very beautiful eyes.”

He blinked. “What?”

“They’re gray.”

He almost smiled. She was almost sure of it.

“Aye, I suppose so,” he agreed.

“I think I might be delirious,” she said, putting her good hand to her head.

“Think you?” he asked. “Pain will do that to a person, I suppose. And I fear that the pain won’t cease until I—”

She shrieked, then found that her finger suddenly felt much better.

“Oh,” she said, looking down at her hand. “That’s better.”

“Aye, I imagine it is. Don’t move it overmuch yet.” He looked around him. “Damnation, but is there nothing in this hall that might be used for a bandage?” He turned back to her. “Stay here.”

“We’ll watch over her,” Montgomery offered.

It was only then that she realized that Montgomery and John were standing on either side of her chair, looking rather protective. She was grateful for it. She smiled weakly.

“I’m not having a good day,” she offered.

“Nay,” Montgomery agreed. “I daresay not.”

“We tried to go with you,” John said grimly. “We almost had Nick overpowered, you know, but he is older than we are and a man fully fashioned. And he has spent the better part of his life training with our eldest brother, Robin, who is the best swordsman in England save our sire.”

“Nick never bests Robin,” Montgomery said reverently.

“I never best Robin,” Nicholas said, resuming his place on his stool, “because his ego would never survive it.”

“Think you that you could?” Montgomery asked in surprise.

“I’ll attempt it when next we meet if you both will go attend Miles in the stables and leave me in peace.”

Montgomery and John left without hesitation.

“Now, I’ll bind your hand, lady—”

“My name is Jennifer.”

He went still, then nodded briefly and started to tear cloth into strips. “Aye.”

“But you knew that already.”

He paused, then nodded. “Aye.”

She continued to watch him work. “My sisters call me Jenner,” she said. “My grandmother, whom I love, calls me Jen, but only when she’s feeling particularly affectionate.”

He laid the strips over his knee, taking quite a bit of time at it. He paused, but did not look up at her. “And what am I to call you?” he asked, finally.

She pretended to consider for quite some time. “You may call me Mistress McKinnon.”

He looked up in surprise. She could have sworn he almost smiled.

Then he bent his head again and fussed with strips of cloth that looked perfectly arranged to her. “Indeed. Well, Mistress McKinnon, let me have your hand so I might bind it for you.”

She gave him her hand and tried not to tremble as he took it.

It wasn’t from pain.

Not at all.

It was from utter madness, she decided quickly. Nicholas de Piaget was a medieval knight from a noble family and she imagined that even his flings were girls with titles and medieval kinds of trappings. And what was she thinking, to even contemplate the condition of his flings? She didn’t fling. She certainly didn’t fling with a guy who was 800 years older than she was.

Besides, she didn’t want to stay in medieval England. She had a life to get back to.

Somehow.

“My lord,” she began.

He looked up at her very briefly. “Nicholas.”

“My lord Nicholas—”

“Nay, just Nicholas.” He paused. “My brothers call me Nick.” He continued to wrap cloth around her hand. “My grandmother calls me Nicky, but then so do my sisters and my mother, on occasion when they’re feeling particularly affectionate.”

“And what,” she managed in an alarmingly garbled tone, “am I to call you?”

He did look up at her then. “You choose. Pray, do not make it worse than any of those.”

Nicholas. Nick. Nicky. Was it possible all those names, with all their colors attached, could possibly find home in the man sitting so close to her that their knees touched?

Unfortunately, she suspected they could indeed.

“Nicholas is a beautiful name,” she said finally.

“Then call me that.” He finished tying the cloth around her hand and carefully held it in both his own. He looked up at her. “If it pleases you.”

She had the most ridiculous urge to go into his arms, put her head on his shoulder and close her eyes. Maybe she was just lost in a dream. Maybe she would wake up and find that he was just a regular guy working at the local barrister’s office in the village near Artane. Maybe she would meet him in the local fish-and-chip shop, they would exchange phone numbers, and he would actually call. Maybe Gideon had a cousin who looked just like him and she was destined to meet and fall in love with him at the family reunion.

All of which had to happen in the future.

She realized that tears were streaming down her face only because she couldn’t see him anymore.

“You must be hungry,” he said quietly, rising. “I’ll fetch you something and return quickly.”

“Great,” she managed.

But she suspected it would take a great deal more than food to cure what ailed her.

A medieval lord who had been kind to her.

A time gate that hadn’t.

She put her good hand over her face and cried.