Spirited Away (22 page)
Andi blinked at the sudden change. "You've never been like this before, Kirk. Is it the hoard?" She shook her head. "If you're so fascinated by it I'm afraid you'll have to go to Dreadmoor to inspect it."
Something flashed in his gray eyes. A challenge? Wrath? Then he smiled. "And why is that?"
His smile stayed on his lips. And it bothered her.
"Andrea?"
Just as she opened her mouth to speak, a brown-haired woman in her forties stopped at their booth with a food-laden tray. " 'Ere's your order, sir."
Andi kept silent while the plates were set down. The woman flashed her a smile, wiped her hands on the yellow apron hanging from her waist, then left.
"I took the liberty of ordering for you, my dear." He smiled. "You do like fish, yes? Now. About why you've no hoard to show me this fine eve?"
Ignoring her irritability, she took a sip from her water. "The condition of the weapons is precarious at the moment, Kirk. They've only been out of the ground for a few hours—"
"I want details, Andrea. How were they placed? Describe each and every one."
For a reason unknown to her, she felt compelled to be vague. No, she felt compelled to leave.
Maybe it was because of the way her mentor was acting? The word
jackass
came to mind. "They were wrapped in a stretch of leather, which had become partially rotted."
"Bound with twisted yew, no doubt?"
She nearly choked. "How did you know that?"
He ignored her question. "How many were there?"
She narrowed her gaze. "Fourteen."
Watchful gray eyes searched hers, without blinking. Then he leaned against the padded vinyl back of the booth. "Fourteen, you say?" He sipped his beer. "Interesting." Then, as if the whole ugly raising-of-the-voice thing hadn't happened, he dug into his meal of fried haddock and chips. In mid-bite, he stopped. "I assume you photographed?"
"Yes. I did."
A cool, wafting breath touched her neck. Turning, she looked behind her. No one was there.
"I suppose you didn't bring the digital?" Kirk glanced at her untouched plate. "Aren't you going to eat?"
Reaching into her purse, she pulled out the photo card and set it down by his plate. It would have been useless to lie about it. He knew how retentive she was about gathering all information at a dig.
A simple nod. "That's my girl." He promptly stuffed it in his pocket. After a long pull on his pint of beer, he wiped his mouth and glanced at his watch. "Christ, Andrea, I've got to run. I hate to make this such a hasty meeting." He stood and kissed her cheek. "I've fifteen undergrads awaiting me in Northumberland. I really do hate to leave them for long." He kissed her cheek. "You do understand, don't you?"
No. She didn't understand any of it. "You're leaving? I thought this was dinner as well as info-swap?
If that's all you wanted, why didn't you just call?"
Kirk's eyes narrowed. "This is something we both love, Andrea. We've shared it since you were a young girl. I simply looked forward to it—the hoard
and
sharing it with my most prized student.
Certainly, you understand my disappointment?"
Well, maybe she did. She'd wanted to excavate Dreadmoor forever. How would she have felt had it been snatched away from her? Or worse, had Kirk not given it to her to begin with?
After a deep breath, she stood. "I understand, and I'm sorry. It's just you've been so ... demanding lately."
He chuckled. "I'm always demanding, love. That's not a new feature to my character."
She looked at the man who'd been the closest thing she'd ever had to a father. "It is with me."
Minutes later, Andi watched her mentor leave the small pub parking lot by cab and head south toward Northumberland. Maybe the undergrads were too much for him to handle? She knew how to, but Kirk rarely led such an inexperienced group without her.
Climbing into Jameson's Rover, she pushed her gloomy thoughts out of mind and pulled out onto the single-track road leading to Dreadmoor.
"What?"
Tristan's thunderous shout echoed across the bailey and probably reached the village. Not that he cared. He stared at the three knights before him. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he stopped and pushed a hand through his hair. "Why did you follow her? Did you show yourselves?"
Richard, Christopher, and Geoffrey shook their heads.
Richard cleared his throat. "Well, I believe the lady knew something was amiss."
After a few seconds of glaring, Tristan said, "You blew on her neck."
A quick nod. "Aye. I did blow on her neck."
Geoffrey shuffled his booted feet. " 'Twas only as a warning blow, Tristan. We feared she'd reveal too much."
That caught Tristan's attention. "Did she?"
Three "nays" sounded in unison.
"Bleedin' saints," Tristan muttered. He paused, then faced the three knights. "How went her meeting with Grey?"
All three knights glanced at one another. "Not very well, I'd warrant. He shouted at her thusly for not bringing any of our swords," Richard said.
"And the lady seemed quite taken aback by his behavior, as well," Christopher said. "Strange, but there was something oddly familiar about the man."
Tristan frowned. "What mean you?"
Christopher shook his head. "I vow I don't know. 'Twasn't his visage, but rather his—"
"Voice," said Geoffrey. "I recognized his bloody voice, but cannot place it." He scratched his head.
"Daft but I think 'twas Erik. Bloody Erik de Sabre."
Tristan followed Andrea down the stairs into the dungeon where she knelt to examine the links of chain mail. Quite a determined wench, he thought. A trait he rather liked in a woman.
Not any woman.
That woman.
Gently, he cleared his throat. "I see you've made it back from the village unscathed." Saints, but he hated lying. Although not truly lying, keeping something a secret from her was lying enough. And it disgusted him to do the deed.
"Yes, although my boss was disappointed not to be able to examine the weapons firsthand."
"Aye. No doubt." Unavoidably, his gaze settled on Andi's mouth. How he'd love to wipe that forlorn expression from her lovely face. Forcing those lecherous thoughts from his mind, he met her eyes with his. A thought struck him. "I've got something to show you. Be you up for a bit of a climb? The North Tower has a powerfully grand view of the sea, and I've a notion to view it at once."
Andrea's smile nearly split her face. She nodded. "I'm up for anything." She glanced back down at the mail. "This is yours. Isn't it?"
"Do not fret overmuch about it, lady. More likely than not, aye, 'tis mine. But I don't see how that can help you solve this mystery. 'Tis only mail. Now, up the stairs you go and make haste, for I've not the patience to wait on you." More important things were at hand now. Like who Andrea's employer truly was.
Jumping the excavation pit, she turned back to Tristan, a knowing gleam in her eyes. "Oh yes, you do, Lord Dreadmoor." With that she raced up the stairs.
He watched her climb, his unchivalristic thoughts returning as he watched her long legs carry her to the chambers above. He cleared his throat. "You've the right of it, lass. More than you know."
Andi's stomach fluttered with excitement as they walked side by side. "Where are we going?"
"As I said, the North Tower. To my chambers."
Andi grinned. "You must like heights. First, a trip to the parapet. Now the North Tower." She shrugged. "Okay."
Tristan cocked his head. "You don't sound overly trusting, Dr. Monroe."
She laughed nervously. "Sorry. I trust you."
Tristan stopped and turned, his stare powerful and intense. "Do you in truth?"
Andi thought she would melt from the sheer heat radiating from Tristan's unfathomable gaze. His eyes were so acute, so blue—so knowing. He looked so
real.
A shiver moved over her spine. "Yes, I do trust you."
They stared at one another for what seemed like several minutes. A muscle flexed in Tristan's jaw as he studied her face, searching her eyes for something known only to him. "As you should, lady."
Andi smiled. Tristan tried so hard to be rough, but she sensed a big, overgrown teddy bear lurking beneath all that ghostly muscle and chain mail. That thought she would wisely keep to herself.
The two made their way through the keep, walking in comfortable silence. The lantern's flames danced on the walls, casting soft shadows that flickered at their passing—or rather, her passing. The thought saddened her. Her lone shadow moved against the aged stone. Tristan's shadow was a thing of the past, and it had been for more years than she could imagine. How had he endured it?
"Drag those gloomy thoughts of yours from your overworked mind, wench." Tristan looked down at her. "I vow you will have lines embedded in your lovely forehead."
Andi smiled. "I guess you're right." She tucked her hair behind her ears and pushed her hands into her pockets.
As they reached the stairs leading to Tristan's chambers, he stepped to the side and allowed her to pass. "Andrea, I would open the bloody door for you if I could, but—"
"Tristan, honestly." She gave him a warm smile. "I know you would."
He cleared his throat. "Aye, well, then up you go."
Andi did as he asked and walked into his chambers.
Once in the room Tristan lit the lamps with a flick of his wrist. He strode to the far end of the chamber, where a wooden desk sat close to the hearth. Turning, he watched as she made her way across the floor.
Andi smiled and looked around, admiring the sheer masculinity of Tristan's chamber. Pure, raw male. Heavy brocade drapes surrounded the postered bed. The enormous fireplace took up the space of one entire wall. She looked up at Tristan, who stood by his desk, watching her every move.
"This," she said, grinning, "is a great room." She walked to him, standing beside him as he leaned a mailed hip against his desk. "So, what do you have to show me?"
Tristan grinned and nodded to a small wooden box, perched on the desk. "Open it, Andrea."
Andi slid a cautious glance at Tristan, then picked up the box. It seemed quite old but well preserved. She lifted the lid and stared at its contents.
Nestled in the bottom of the box was a single silver and emerald earring—the very one she'd lost at Dreadmoor twelve years ago, when she'd fallen through the stone steps of the kirk. She lifted her gaze. "How did you find this?"
Tristan shrugged his wide shoulders. "I suppose you intrigued me, even back then." He smiled at her, deep dimples pitting his cheeks. "You were a lovely thing, even at that age. All legs and arms, you were, and so fascinated with my home." He edged closer to her, his dark bangs boyishly falling across one sapphire-blue eye. "After you left, I visited the place where you'd fallen. When I found the bauble, I waited for Jameson's return and had him retrieve it for me." He smiled. "He was curious as to not only who it belonged to, but how it got there. I shrugged it off as though I had no clue and had him place it in a box for safekeeping." He shook his head, his gaze boring into hers.
"I've kept it ever since, not knowing if I would ever see you again. 'Tis a day I shall never forget, the day you were here."
"Me neither. You saved my life."
Tristan snorted. "I did no such thing, lady. 'Tis more likely I almost talked you to death. I felt like an inadequate whelp that day, unable to physically help you. Saints, but you could have been terribly hurt." A brief flash of sadness crossed his features. " 'Twas a pitiful showing, to say the least. I even allowed your hand to fall through me. A fine knight I proved to be."
"That is a load of crap, de Barre," she said. "You saved my life that day, and I never stopped thinking of you. I wasn't sure what happened had even really happened, but I never stopped thinking of you."
He lowered his gaze and walked away. "What am I, Andrea? Naught but a spirit, capable of little more than having speech and entertaining you with a few unnatural tricks?" He flicked his wrist and a gust of wind sifted through her hair.
She stared at him until he met her gaze. She lifted her chin. "You became my knight."
He shifted his weight. "What am I now?"
She stared at Tristan, helpless to move. Her heart lurched at his words. What was he asking of her?
How much of her extremely pitiful guts did he wish her to spill? She knew what he was. She also knew what he meant
to
her. And she almost kept that knowledge to herself.
If only he hadn't chosen that moment to stop and look up.
It proved to be her complete and utter undoing.
The bare vulnerability in Tristan's eyes stabbed at her heart. They were filled with aching, raw helplessness. A lonesome look of desperation—almost too much for Andi to bear. She moved closer to him, holding his gaze steady. "You are still my knight, Tristan de Barre."
Tristan stared in wonder. How it came to pass that he, a spirit, could possibly have difficulty breathing was beyond his comprehension. He had no bloody lungs, nor the ability to suck in air; yet as he looked into her wide, green-flecked eyes he could not draw a decent breath. Did he dare give voice to his foolish thoughts? His ghostly heart pounded against an equally ghostly chest and he squelched the urge to wipe sweaty palms against his thighs. Devil's horns, he was an idiot!
With what took every ounce of energy he could muster, he released his breath. Letting his eyes wander over the woman before him, he drank in every inch of her trusting face and wished heartily he could touch her, just to see if she was truly as soft as she looked. "Christ, Andrea," he whispered.
"I find myself fiercely indebted to Erik de Sabre. 'Twas he who has placed us here, together ..."
"Oh, Tristan." Tears made her eyes glassy. "You can't mean that."
"Aye, I do." He moved closer. "I've waited more than seven centuries for you, Andrea Kinley Monroe." He stared at her and felt a prick of guilt for not telling her the truth, or at least the complete truth, of what his men suspected. He wasn't even sure how it could
be.
The men had voiced concerns over evil spirits embodying a live being, but how? And why now, after so many bloody centuries? Aye, it sounded daft, to be sure. For now, he would refrain from telling her. The moment they now drowned in was far too great to give up.