Love Came Just in Time (11 page)

Miles sneezed.

“Likewise, I'm sure,” Sir Sweetums said, with a swish of his tail.

Abby couldn't decide who to watch. Miles looked like he was going to faint again—she knew that look. She put out her hand to steady him.

“That's Sir Sweetums,” she supplied.

“So I gathered.”

“He's talking. But only until sunrise.”

“How positively lovely,” Miles managed.

Sir Sweetums grimaced. “Ye gads, boy, get on with this, won't you?'Tis almost dawn. I'd like to see The Abigail comfortably settled before the night is out.”

“Maybe I don't want to be comfortably settled,” Abby interjected.

“Sir Miles?” Sir Sweetums prompted.

Miles came up another step and knelt. Abby stiffened her spine and reminded herself of all the reasons she had to be angry with him.

“Abby?” he said, quietly.

Oh, great.
Now
he decided to call her Abby. She scowled at him.

“This isn't going to work.”

He looked at her solemnly. “Juts what about me doesn't suit? My visage?'Tis too ugly to be gazed at for the rest of your life?” He flexed an arm for her benefit. “Too scrawny? Too frail? Here, come sniff me.”

She leaned close, then wrinkled her nose. “All right, so you don't smell too great. What have you been doing?”

“I've been riding hard since midday yesterday. Now, in what other thing do I fail?”

“You dress better than I do. A very important issue with me.”

Miles plunked a small, jangly bag in her lap. “Hire a seamstress. Anything else?”

Abby fingered the money in the bag. She looked at Sir Sweetums, who was watching her silently. Then she looked up at the stars; she couldn't look at Miles.

“I want it all,” she said, quietly. “Kids, a garden, Christmas.” She cleared her throat. “And a husband who loves me.”

“And I would not?” he asked.

She looked at him. “You left. What am I supposed to understand from that? I tell you what is most important to me, you ignore me, and then you leave.”

“I went to fetch a priest.”

She frowned at him. “Why? So you could have me exorcised?”

Miles smiled. “Nay, Abby, so he could see us properly wed.”

She blinked.

“Wed?” she asked.

“Aye.”

“I—”

He took her hand in both of his. “I want you, Abby, in my life and in my bed. I vow always to smell more poorly than you. I give you my solemn word that you will always have the majority of garments in our trunk.” He lifted his hand and touched her cheek. “I want to give you what you want, Abby. I want to give you a home and a family.”

She looked at him. It was hard, but she made herself look at him and ask about what meant the most to her.

“And what about love? Between us?”

He smiled, and the tenderness of it went straight to her heart. “I think I began to fall in love with you from the moment I first clapped eyes on you standing at my gates. Every breath I've taken since then has just convinced me that life with you is infinitely more joyful than life without you.” He raised her hand to his lips. “My sweet Abby, how can you think I would offer you any less?”

“Oh, Miles,” she said. It was all she'd ever wanted to hear. She threw her arms around his neck, closed her eyes and let her tears slip down her cheeks. “Oh, Miles.”

“I want you to stay,” he whispered, putting his arms around her and hugging her. “I'm half-afraid to ask you to give up the future for me.” He pulled back and looked at her. “Will you? I haven't much to offer you, yet.”

She looped her arms around his neck and smiled at him, feeling joy well up in her heart. “All I really want,” she said, blinking back the tears that stung her eyes, “is you.”

“You won't miss chocolate?”

“I hear making love is a good substitute.”

Miles laughed. “Perhaps in our travels someday we'll learn the truth of it. Until then, can you make do?”

“Yes.”

“And you'll wed me?”

“Yes.”

“Finally,” Sir Sweetums exclaimed, triumphantly. “Well done, Miles, old boy! Finally, someone to take care of my beloved Abigail!”

“I don't need to be taken care of—”

Miles kissed her.

“See?” Abby mumbled. She made a concentrated effort to pull away so she could point out that such barbaric practices were most definitely not in the agreement, but somehow she found herself mesmerized by the feeling of his mouth on hers.

All right. If he wanted to kiss her into submission, she'd let him. Now and then.

“Perhaps, Sir Sweetums,” Miles said, when he let her up for air, “Abby might be more amenable to the idea of keeping me in line, rather than the opposite.”

Sir Sweetums considered. “Well, Garretts
do
do that sort of thing.”

Miles's eyes began to water. “The first thing she might do is remove me from your presence, my good cat. No offense, of course.”

Sir Sweetums drew back at Miles's hearty sneeze. “Well, yes, perhaps that would be wise. I'll be on my way now.”

“Oh,” Abby said, holding out her hand, “don't go.”

“But I must, my dear. You are safely settled. My task is finished.”

“But,” Abby said, “don't you want to see how our lives turn out? What if we have rotten kids?”

Sir Sweetums smiled again, a cheshire cat smile. “I'm a permanent member of the Guardian Feline Association, my dear. We're always about, lending a paw when needed. Now that you're here, I daresay I'll be popping into medieval England more regularly.”

“Always on Christmas Eve,” Miles said with another sneeze. “I doubt anything else during the year will give me quite the same start as watching you speak.”

Sir Sweetums lifted a paw in farewell. “Until next year, then. God be with you, my dears!”

Sir Sweetums vanished. Abby looked at Miles with a watery smile.

“Hell of a cat, huh?”

Miles laughed. “Indeed, my love, he certainly is. Now, I believe you and I have some unfinished business below with a priest.”

She followed him down the tight staircase to find the priest standing near Miles's inadequate bonfire, shivering. Abby took one last look around the hall and shook her head. The place was a dump. It made her apartment look like a four-star hotel suite.

Then Miles stopped, looked down at her, and smiled. He held out his hand for her.

Abby put her hand in his. The floor squished under her Keds as she let Miles lead her to the priest. Maybe she would ask for a shovel for Christmas next year. Why hadn't she thought to stuff a can of disinfectant in her jacket before she'd left the twentieth century?

Abby came to from her contemplation of Miles's floor to find the priest looking at her, waiting for her to give some sort of answer in the affirmative to the question of whether or not she wanted Miles and medieval England for the rest of her life.

She looked up at Miles. “Shouldn't your parents be here?”

Miles shrugged. “They'll learn of it soon enough.”

Abby looked at the abbot, who seemed to be warning her with his eyes alone that she was sentencing herself to a life with a condemned heretic and shouldn't she really give it a few more minutes' thought?

“I'll take him,” she blurted out.

Miles hustled the priest out the door before anyone had a chance to say anything else. Abby squished her way closer to the bonfire. She'd just gotten herself married to a man some seven hundred years older than she. Talk about a May-December romance! She shivered. Hopefully his family was as open-minded as he seemed to be. She heard Miles stomping his feet outside the front door and she took a deep breath. He didn't seem to be worried about what his parents would say. They would just have to cross that bridge when they came to it.

Abby rolled her eyes. Hadn't a bridge been what had started her entire adventure?

The front door opened and Abby gave up worrying about Miles's parents. She was married now and Garretts did do it after they were married. Frequently. With enthusiasm. Her grandmother had been very clear on that.

Abby stood up straight and planted her hands on her waist. No time like the present to get down to business.

And what wonderful business it promised to be.

MILES SAW THE abbot comfortably ensconced in the gatehouse, then returned to the hall. He stood at the threshold and looked back over his bailey. Already, his mind was overflowing with ideas for improvement. He couldn't subject Abigail to life in these conditions. He would make Speningethorpe as modern as he could, for Abigail's sake.

He stomped his muddy boots to clean them, entered his hall, and closed the door behind him. Abigail was standing next to the fire, hands on her waist. Ah, so she was prepared to do battle again. Miles leaned back against the wood and smiled. Saints, what a woman he was blessed with. His life with her would be one joy after another.

After they survived the next few hours, that is. Miles folded his arms across his chest and contemplated his next action. They were wed legally enough. To be sure, he wanted to bed her, but was it too soon?

“Hey,” she said, frowning. “Why are you over there?”

“I'm watching you,” he replied, with a smile.

“I'm cuter up close.”

Miles laughed as he crossed the floor. “You're fetching from any distance, my lady.” He pulled her into his arms and held her close. “God bless that bloody Sir Sweetums for bringing you to me.”

“I couldn't agree more.”

Miles held her for several minutes in silence. After a time, he began to feel quite warm. He jerked away from Abigail and gave himself the once-over to make sure none of him was on fire. Abigail was looking at him as if he'd lost his wits.

“I was growing warm,” he offered.

Her eyes twinkled merrily. “Nothing seems to be smoldering, Miles.”

He looked at her, feeling exceedingly uncomfortable. What was he to say, that his warmth had definitely not come from any fire? Abigail tilted her head to one side and looked at him appraisingly.

“You shaved,” she noted.

He nodded. “And had a wash outside,” he added. “But I'm sure you still smell better than I do.”

She laughed. “Thank you. I think.”

Miles nudged a piece of slimy hay with his toe. “We could kiss.” He looked at her from under his eyelashes.

“We could.”

“I don't want to rush you, Abby.”

She shook her head, with an amused smile. “You aren't. Garretts generally do it right after the ceremony. It comes from having to wait.”

“I see—” Miles trailed off. Abby had stepped up to him and put her arms around him. What was she about?

“Don't worry,” she whispered, still smiling. “I'm just going to lay one on you.”

He realized, belatedly, that he wasn't prepared for her actions. He and Abigail had kissed often enough, but this kiss rocked him to the core. Perhaps it was because he knew it could definitely lead to other things. Miles threw his arms around her and held on.

Too soon, she allowed him to breathe. He blinked.

“I think,” he managed, “I would like to have another of those laid on me.”

She obliged him. Miles clung to her and hoped he wouldn't embarrass himself by having his knees buckle under him.

He'd planned to give her a goodly while to accustom herself fully to him, perhaps even a few days, but if she didn't stop kissing him thusly, he sincerely doubted he would be able to do much but hold onto the ragged edges of his wits. And, after all, Garretts did seem to have a schedule about these things. If Abigail wanted him now, who was he to say her nay?

He tore his mouth away. “I'm going to fall down soon, I think. Perhaps we could retire to the bed and go with the flow for a time.”

Abigail laughed. “What is your family going to think when they hear you talking like a twentieth-century guy?”

“They'll think I've gone daft,” he said, leading her to his bed and lying down beside her. “You should have seen the look the abbot cast my way at Seakirk when I told him to get the lead out.”

“And where is the friar in question?”

“In the little room above the gatehouse,” he said. He buried his hands in her hair and turned her face to his. He smiled. He'd been itching to get his hands in her hair for what seemed like years.

“Is he just a junior priest, then?” she asked.

“Nay. He's a powerful abbot.”

She choked. “I see your nefarious reputation has its advantages.”

He grinned at her. “Are you sorry you wed with such a one as I?”

“No, Dastardly Dan, I'm not,” she said, tugging on his ear. “Come here and kiss me, you bad man.”

How could he refuse? He kissed her as she wished, then he kissed her as he wished. Then he wished for less clothing between them.

“Oh, my,” she said, when his hand trailed over her increasingly bare flesh.

“Indeed,” he said with a shiver, as her cold fingers wandered over his chest. He would have to build better fireplaces. Perhaps he would raze the bloody keep to the ground and start over again. Abigail's hands found the warmth of his back and he yelped. Aye, more heat was surely a necessity he would see to as soon as possible.

When tunics had been discarded, he pulled her close to him and relished the feel of her bare skin against his.