Spirited Away (6 page)
Jameson turned back to his stirring. "Very well, young Tristan."
Tristan shook his head and disappeared.
Andi stretched, relishing the warmth on her skin by the low-burning fire in the hearth.
She bolted upright and looked around.
I didn't light a fire last night ...
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed she rose and rubbed her bare arms.
Maybe Jameson lit
the fireplace.
She did remember being chilly during the night. Her bad habit of rolling into a fetal ball instead of seeking warmth from the covers, which were usually either under her or bunched at the end of the bed, had caused her to wake up freezing her buns off more than once.
Crossing the floor to the small fire, she turned her backside to the flames and rubbed. She looked around while her derrière warmed. Her gaze landed on the shield, now propped up against the opposite wall, out of reach from the flames. She was fascinated by it.
After warming herself, she made her bed and got ready for the day. Finally unpacking her suitcase, she put her clothes in the large, wooden trunk in the corner, then pulled on her Washington State Tshirt and a pair of jeans. As she was clasping the last two buttons on her 501s, a soft rap sounded at her door. She walked over barefoot and opened it.
A smiling young boy stood on the other side, proudly displaying his missing front tooth. "My lady, I've come to fetch you for breakfast."
She grinned at the boy. "Why, thank you," she replied, adopting his formal manner. "May I ask your name?"
"Heath, my lady." He drew up to his full height of, oh, probably four feet.
"Well, Heath, give me a minute to put on my sneakers and I'll be right with you." She crossed the room, dug a pair of socks out of the trunk, then sat on the lid while she put on her shoes. She looked at the boy, who still stood, smiling at her. "Do you live here?"
"Oh, nay. I come here Mondays and Thursdays with me grandmum and helps her with the cleanin'."
His smile widened. "I get money, too."
Andi crossed her arms over her chest and raised her eyebrows. "How's the pay?"
The boy's grin widened. "Quite good." He held out a small hand. "Me grandmum's away today, though, running errands for Jameson. Mrs. Dawson's taking her place. Ready?"
Andi laughed and crossed the room. "You bet. I'm starved." With that they left the room.
She had to trot to keep up with Heath as they made their way down the long corridor to the steps.
They reached the landing at the bottom and crossed the great hall, where an older woman swept embers from the massive fireplace. Heath grabbed Andi's hand and pulled her to the woman, who stopped her chore as they approached.
"Mrs. Dawson, here's the bone lady I told you about!" Heath jumped up and down in place.
A hesitant smile crossed the woman's face; then she clucked. "Heath, love, stop pullin' on the woman so!" She turned to Andi. "Forgive him, lady. He's an excitable sort."
Andi gave the older woman a warm smile. "No problem." She stuck out her hand. "I'm Andi."
The woman ignored her offered hand, but instead leaned in to whisper, "Lady, if you know what's good for you, you'll leave this place." She cast a skeptical glance around the room before meeting Andi's gaze. " 'Tis haunted."
Heath's eyes twinkled. "Aye, she has the right of it, to be sure."
Andi stared at the two with raised eyebrows. "Haunted? I doubt that."
"Nay, 'tis true!" Heath tugged on her arm. "By the dreadful and fierce knight, Dragonhawk, lady. All gruesome and bloody guts, he is. And he will lop off your head whilst you sleep—he or one of his gruesome guardsmen."
She glanced at Mrs. Dawson, who bobbed her wiry, gray head with as much enthusiasm as he did.
Andi smiled. "I'd love to know more about the missing garrison. Can you tell me anything—"
"Whist!" The older woman's eyes rounded and she crossed herself. "They'll hear you, girl. Keep yer voice down." She glanced around. " 'Tis why I don't come here often. Bloody spirits."
"I'm sorry," Andi whispered, fighting back a grin.
Maybe she could question the woman at her home, where she'd be more inclined to speak out loud.
She'd ask Jameson later where the woman lived.
Satisfied their warning had been taken to its fullest, the old woman nodded her approval and returned to the sweeping. "Hurry and take the lady to the kitchens, love," she said. "Then return straightaway and help me finish, so we can be gone."
Heath grinned his gap-toothed grin and grabbed Andi by the hand. "C'mon, then. Let's go!"
In order to keep from being pulled down and dragged across the great hall, Andi ran alongside Heath, where they skidded to a halt just inside the kitchen. Heath drew in a large breath and yelled,
"Jam-e-son, I've got her!"
Jameson stepped from out of the pantry with a disapproving look. "Yes, Master Heath, I see that you do. But you must remember, a gentleman does not bellow thusly."
"Yes, Jameson." He turned and smiled up at Andi, his voice lowered. "I've got to go help Mrs.
Dawson, lady. Will you be here next Monday?"
She grinned and bent down to the boy's level. "If I don't get my head lopped off in my sleep."
Heath's smile widened. "Best you cross yourself, then. Like this." He crossed himself, winked, and fast as lightning, ran from the kitchen without another word.
A faint, deep chuckle erupted from the room. Andi glanced up at Jameson. From the dour look on his face the humorous sound couldn't have come from him. She looked around the kitchen. Empty, save for Jameson and herself. She turned her gaze on Dreadmoor's steward. "Did you just laugh?"
"I never laugh, my lady." His back stiffened. "Now, would you care to have your porridge?"
"I must be hearing things." Shaking her head, she gave Jameson a wistful smile. "I don't suppose you have any Pop-Tarts?"
"Dr. Monroe, I doubt you'll find such an atrocious excuse for a meal in all of England. Porridge?"
Andi nearly burst out laughing. "Sure. Porridge is fine."
He nodded and placed before Andi a steaming bowl of creamy oatmeal, along with several pieces of wheat toast. He followed with a large mug of hot tea.
"Thanks." Her stomach growled from the aroma. "It looks great."
"I'm sure it does."
Andi reached for the bowl of brown sugar on the table and dumped three heaping spoonfuls into the porridge. She followed it with cream. It earned her a blistering look from Jameson.
He cleared his throat. "Lord Dreadmoor has finished his business and is quite anxious to meet with you, Dr. Monroe."
Andi took a sip of tea and nodded. "Perfect. I was hoping to meet with him before starting the examination of skeletal remains this morning." She took a slice of wheat toast, slathered it with raspberry jam, and took a bite, followed by another sip of tea. "I'd like to call a cab and ride into town later this afternoon. Do you suppose Gibbs would come back out? I'll pay him extra."
Almost a smile, but not quite.
"I'll be glad to take you in myself. I've a bit of shopping to do for the larder."
"I don't want to be any trouble, Jameson."
"No bother at all, my lady. Let's say, five-ish?"
"I'll be ready. Oh, and one more thing. I'd like to have Dr. Grey assist me with the first inspection of the bones, if it's okay?"
Jameson gave a nod. "I'm sure you'd be better to ask Himself. He's a private sort, you know."
"So I've heard," she said under her breath.
She finished her bowl of porridge and drained her teacup. "What time do you expect His Lordship to get up this morning?"
The corner of Jameson's mouth twitched. "If you're finished, he's awaiting you now, Dr. Monroe."
He walked to the doors leading to the great hall. "Shall we?"
Andi wiped her mouth and followed Jameson with enthusiasm. "Lead the way, Jameson."
Time to
face the crusty old battle-ax.
Andi followed Jameson across the great hall and up the wide, stone steps leading to the second floor. They made their way through the
bowels of the castle,
as Jameson had put it. They'd be meeting in the solar. She was more than ready to begin her work.
At the end of the corridor they turned left, then wound their way across the keep. The lanterns cast a luminous glow to the ancient stone walls. A few more tapestries hung here and there, but were scarcer on what Jameson called the west side of the castle.
Finally coming to a dead end, Jameson stopped, pulled open a door, and held it open for Andi. She stepped in, her sneakers squeaking on the circular stone stairs as she began the climb. One lantern, perched way above them, lit the stairwell.
Andi peered into the dimness. Shadows flickered against the walls, giving a completely wonderful medieval effect. At the end of the steps stood another door. She waited for Jameson to enter and announce her. It surprised her to find her heart pounded a little faster than usual. Maybe she should have dressed more appropriate? After all, she was about to meet an English lord.
Too late now,
Monroe.
Jameson glanced at Andi, raised an eyebrow, then pushed open the heavy wooden door. He stepped in first and cleared his throat. "Lord Dreadmoor," he announced, "Dr. Monroe is here to speak with you."
Andi peered into the room over Jameson's narrow shoulder.
"Send her in and close the door."
She jumped. Jameson didn't even flinch. "As you wish, my lord." Jameson led Andi into the room, then turned and left her alone. With
him.
Her breath hitched in her throat as Lord Dreadmoor rose from his place behind a massive oak desk.
Some battle-ax.
Andi swallowed—hard. Good Lord, she wasn't usually so nervous when meeting new people. The battle-ax didn't look or sound at all like, well, an old battle-ax.
Virile. Healthy. Massive. Lordly.
Mouthwateringly gorgeous.
Not at all like the wheezing old eccentric geezer she'd conjured in her mind. The black T-shirt barely fit shoulder to shoulder, stretching taut against massive chunks of muscle. Hips snuggled within a pair of worn and comfortable-looking jeans, his long, dark hair tied back—nope, not a battle-ax. His deep, raspy voice sounded like a strange combination of Britain's English and, if her years of studying medieval languages were correct, French-Norman. That odd combination of accents suddenly interrupted her thoughts.
"Dr. Monroe?"
Inwardly, she cringed.
How unprofessional, Andrea. Come on, now. No ogling.
Stepping closer to the polished desk, she smiled. "Yes. I apologize. You're ... not what I expected." She extended her hand and met his gaze. "It's very nice to meet—"
Lord Dreadmoor retracted and shoved his hands in his pockets.
Andi gasped, and she felt her face blanch. She'd know those eyes anywhere. "Oh my God. It's
you."
A look of surprise crossed his features, then quickly disappeared. "Have a seat, Dr. Monroe." He motioned with a large hand, thick veins roping up an arm bulging with muscle. He cleared his throat. "Forgive me if I don't remember. Have we met before?"
God, he acted as though she had the plague. Why had he not taken her hand? How embarrassing.
Had she mistaken? Unable to help herself, she chanced a look into those sapphire eyes, rimmed with thick, sooty lashes. He definitely wasn't wearing chain mail. Yet, he looked similar. But that incident with the knight
couldn't
have happened. It was absurd. It'd all been her juvenile imagination.
With a slight laugh, she shook her head and lowered herself into the soft, leather chair. "No, I suppose not. I apologize, Lord Dreadmoor. It's just that you look like someone I've met before."
He sat, and then his gaze shifted to the pen in his fingers. "You must be mistaken, Dr. Monroe, for I vow I would have banked the occasion to memory." Lifting his eyes level to hers, he sat down and made a steeple with his fingers. "First, let me say I hope your venture to the bones last night didn't prove too fearful. Jameson said you'd had a fright?"
It sounded sillier coming from someone else's lips. "I think I let my imagination run away with me a little. It was dark, misty, and I was out there alone. I'm fine. Honest."
He stared, as if not believing, then nodded. "Very well. Now, about the matter at hand? I'm a busy man."
God, she'd die from humiliation before she left this solar. "Of course. I'm actually very excited about the find and more than ready to get started." She tucked her hair behind her ears. "Have you any documents or ledgers regarding the castle's inhabitants? Its history? A blueprint perhaps?"
Tristan smothered a grin. He couldn't believe the wench wasn't the least bit fearful. Not that he wanted to scare her, but anyone else, save Jameson, would be near to bolting, had he used that tone of voice. She hadn't budged. Instead, she'd launched into a thread of excited questions—ones he wasn't truly prepared to answer. At least he'd managed to make a convincing modern-day lord. Even the illusionary pen he held betwixt his fingers looked real. He hoped.
"Lord Dreadmoor?"
Tristan thought for a moment. How much did he want this tenacious young woman to know of his past? 'Twould come to no good end, for a certainty. Truth be told, he enjoyed her wry humor and boldness more than he would be willing to admit to anyone. What harm could come of her seeing the plans? They had been well protected over the years, thanks to his sire.
Gage de Barre had been insistent his younger brother, Tristan's uncle Christopher, take over the running of Dreadmoor after Tristan's murder, so he'd been told later on. Uncle Christopher had carefully preserved the parchment under leaded glass and placed it in Dreadmoor's vault. It told nothing more than the complete layout of the castle.
Let the woman have a look at it.
He nodded. "Aye, there are the original parchments. I have faith you will handle them with utmost care, Dr. Monroe. 'Tis the only set I have, and 'tis very dear to me.
Her lovely mouth dropped open. "Oh my gosh ... you have the originals? I assure you, Lord Dreadmoor—"