Namely, finding his Pippy a mate.
He walked into the courtyard, then made his way to what the visitor’s guide said had been the garrison’s quarters in times past. Doors were, of course, no barrier to him as he simply walked through them, then continued on his way to a rather large chamber that the current owner affectionately called the “mother lode.”
Hugh had to agree. Costumes of every kind hung in tempting rows from metal bars made just for that sort of thing. He knew this, for he had spent more than his share of time haunting and fondling costumes in other locales. Ah, what fond memories he had of La Scala. He supposed he’d spent ample time at the Met as well, but those Big Applers were sharp-eyed and quick-tongued—as well as being a little weak in the knees when they discovered his not-so-mortal status. The Italians were of sturdier stock, for they were generally wont to reach for a blade and attempt to do him in before they bellowed in fear and surprise. The French? Well, they tended to dismiss him with a bored look and merely return to their discussion of tulle.
But he digressed. He focused his attentions on what was before him, then made his way at a languid pace down the rows, admiring as he went—
“Are you allowed to be in here?”
He spun around in surprise, his sword halfway from its sheath, only to find ’twas the wee birthday gel standing twenty paces from him with her hands on her hips and a slightly disapproving look on her face.
He returned his sword to its place as unobtrusively as possible, then doffed his cap and made her a small bow.
“Just seeing as everything’s in place,” he said quickly.
She studied him for a moment or two. “Are you part of the castle?”
He shook his head. “Nay, missy. My home is far up in the Highlands. I’m here, er, for, um, for an . . . inspection,” he said, hitting upon a useful word. “To see that all is well for your birthday celebration.”
She walked up the row, stopped next to him, then turned to study the costumes. “These aren’t the ones for my party. My costumes were made by Pippa, who lives in the States.”
“Pippa,” Hugh repeated. Aye, that was her name. He’d actually encountered her backstage more than once during the run of her last play, though he supposed she had thought him nothing more than a goodly gust of wind. He had no doubt blended in with the gusty discharges of the leading man and the director.
“Her things are ever so lovely,” the gel continued, “and she’s designed things especially for my party.” She smiled. “I’m Hailey. Who are you?”
“The McKinnon,” Hugh said without thinking. He paused. “You might call me Hugh, if you liked.”
She regarded him without flinching. “The castle is haunted, you know.”
Hugh choked. He hadn’t intended to, but he didn’t do well when he was caught off guard. “Is it indeed, lass?”
“My mum thought we should pick another castle, but my dad was keen on this one since Lord Stephen had said it was so lovely. I believe in ghosts. Don’t you?”
Hugh was quite certain his face was nigh onto the color of his hair. “Weel, I suppose, er, perhaps—”
“Shall I tell you of the ghosts who belong to this castle? There’s a seat over there.”
Hugh could readily admit he wasn’t particularly good with children. He hadn’t known what to do with his own until they could hold swords—even the gels—but Mistress Hailey was a bright-eyed thing and she didn’t seem to notice his discomfort. He followed her over to a prop trunk and agreed with her that ’twas a perfect place to take their ease and have a bit of a chat.
“I heard that a few of the ghosts who haunt this castle do so because they were involved in the ruining of a romance.”
Hugh caught his breath. Ah, now here were tidings he could certainly put on the table and examine at length.
“You see,” Hailey went on enthusiastically, “there was once a lord of this keep who captured a fairy. He brought her home and wanted very badly to make her his bride, even though the castle was fair falling down around his ears and surely wouldn’t have been a very impressive place to live.”
Hugh could see two problems with that right off. First, the faery in question would likely not be pleased at being snatched from her home—especially to live in a keep not up to her standards; and second, the English were not as well versed in things of a paranormalish nature as were the Scots. Had the creature landed at his hall, he would have merely ignored her otherworldly attributes and simply offered her supper without making a fuss. He imagined that when the poor wee thing had been brought back to Sedgwick, then every soul in the hall had likely wearied themselves sick making charms to ward off her powers instead of sitting her down by the fire and giving her something hot to drink.
The English. Truly, they were a hopeless lot.
“What befell the poor creature then?” Hugh asked, though he could readily imagine the trials she’d been subject to.
“I heard,” Mistress Hailey said in a low voice, “that the faery went back to her land, to the lord’s deep sorrow.” She frowned. “I’m not exactly certain what happened then, for the lady in the gift shop claims he spent the rest of his days pacing outside his front gates, waiting for the faery to return, and the lad down at the petrol station in town said he suffered a more tragic end—”
“Hailey! Hailey, where are you?”
Hugh leapt to his feet, made Hailey a quick bow, then plopped his cap back atop his head and rushed over to hide behind an Elizabethan dress that was easily as wide as he was tall.
“Hailey, darling, there you are,” said a slight woman wearing a very relieved expression. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“I was talking to Hugh, Mummy. He’s a Scottish laird.”
Hugh thought it best not to introduce himself to Hailey’s mother. She looked overwrought enough as it was.
“Of course, darling.” She looked around as if she expected a dozen angry Highlanders to leap out at any moment, shouting clan slogans and brandishing Claymores. “Daddy’s waiting for us in the tea shop, so let’s go find him, hmmm?”
“All right, Mummy,” Hailey said, jumping off the trunk. “I’d already told Lord Hugh most of the ghost story. You know, Mummy, he wasn’t the only ghost I’ve seen today.”
Hailey’s mother shivered. Hugh shivered right along with her, then looked uneasily over his shoulder. He turned back to the pair to find Hailey looking at him.
“See, Mummy? He’s right over there.”
Hugh vanished before he found himself enjoying matronly shrieks of terror.
“It’s the wind, Hailey.”
“This is a bloody windy castle, Mummy.”
“Hailey Marie Bleakley, where did you learn that language?”
“The last time we visited Hedingham Castle, Mummy. There were men in the lists, resting between bouts of training for their tournaments. That was what they said about the keep.” She paused. “They were ghosts, Mummy.”
Hailey’s mother took a deep breath. “I fear I may need something a bit stronger than tea today.”
Hugh listened to Hailey’s voice fade as she continued to regale her mother with things she’d seen on their various outings to other historical landmarks. Hugh didn’t doubt she’d seen what she’d seen.
He was living—or, rather, unliving—proof of that.
He walked back over to the trunk and sat down, stroking his chin thoughtfully. He supposed if the lord’s end had been one of tragedy, perhaps Mistress Pippy should look elsewhere. Perhaps someone from her own time, lest she come to grief right along with that poor lad who had worn a trench in front of his gates, waiting for his love to return to him.
A breeze blew down the back of his neck, and he leapt up and whirled around in surprise.
There was nothing there.
He normally wasn’t one to be spooked, but if there ever had been a time for it, the time was now. Too many bloody ghosts in the keep for his taste. He strode for the door, found himself momentarily p
reoccupied by a lovely watered-silk ball gown, then hurried off into less unnerving locales, happy to leave tales of unrequited love, ruined castles, and unseen ghosts behind.
He would worry about a romance for Pippy when he was safely ensconced in the tea shop, pretending to enjoy a fortifying cup of something hot.
One thing was certain: he wasn’t going to see her sent back to a dilapidated castle where the inhabitants couldn’t possibly appreciate her seams.
Chapter 3
SEDGWICK CASTLE, ENGLAND FALL, 1241
Montgomery de Piaget stood on a small rise in the midst of vast swaths of forests and farmland, looked at the castle currently languishing in the midst of all that beauty, and wondered what in the hell he’d done to deserve the gift that beckoned to him with all the welcoming warmth of a warty-nosed, claw-fingered crone.
To call the keep before him a wreck was to grossly understate its unredeeming qualities. Adding to the insult was the fact that from his vantage point, he could see all those flaws without their having been able to hide behind some bit of solid wall or other.
Not that Sedgwick had very many of those.
“I can see why Father didn’t want to come along,” said a voice at his side. “Being the modest, reserved soul that he is, perhaps the thought of all the thanks that would come his way was simply too embarrassing to be endured.”
Tittering ensued. Montgomery scowled at the sound. It was impossible to call the noises coming from the line of men standing with him anything else. He looked to his right just to see which one of his companions he would need to kill first. It was a welcome distraction from what lay before him.
They were, in order, his elder brothers Robin and Nicholas, his brother-in-law Jackson Kilchurn the Fourth, and then a younger generation of de Piaget males, Kendrick, James, and Jackson the Fifth. The lads weren’t laughing. They were gaping at the castle in the distance as if they’d just looked into the jaws of Hell and discovered they were to be the next meal.
Montgomery understood.
The men were still struggling to keep their composure. Their eyes were watering madly and all three of them were stifling, with varying degrees of success, laughter behind their hands—damn them all to hell.
Montgomery firmly refused to dignify their amusement by acknowledging it, though he wasn’t blind to the unnerving flaws of his future home. Though the great hall was of a decent size and the stables and the blacksmith’s forge weren’t without merit, the castle’s men came and went out of a rickety garrison hall he wouldn’t have used to house hounds. There was no chapel, and the walls surrounding the innards of the keep were poorly maintained and, from what he could tell, poorly manned. It looked as if someone had once considered putting a moat about the entire place but had hoped just digging it under the drawbridge would be enough to deter those with mischief on their minds.
The saints preserve him, ’twas a disaster.
“Uncle Montgomery?”
Montgomery looked to his left where his eldest nephew stood. Phillip was a sober lad and rarely spoke without having given his words great consideration.
“Aye, lad?” Montgomery asked, elbowing Robin on his other side as he did so.
“I fear there is much work lying before us.”
Montgomery didn’t want to agree, but he had to. He was no simpering gel, to be sure, but there was a part of him that couldn’t help but admit that the sight before him was almost enough to make him want to sit down and rest. He suppressed the urge to shake his head in disbelief and instead turned to look at his nephew.
“Fortunately, Phillip, you are just the lad to help me take on this worthy task—”
“Are you daft?” Robin interrupted incredulously. “Do you actually think I’ll leave my son to squire with you now that I’ve seen this rat-infested hole you intend to call home? Never. Come along, Phillip. We’ll leave Montgomery to his, er . . .” He looked at Nicholas. “What shall we call it?”
Nicholas shrugged. “Words fail me.”
Jake elbowed both of them out of the way. “He’ll call it home soon enough. Besides, Robin, you don’t know if it’s rat infested.”
“I have a sense about these things.” Robin rubbed his hands together briskly. “Well, lads, we’ve delivered the boy to his roost. Let’s make for Segrave. I’m sure Grandmère has something tasty on the fire.”
“Father, Uncle Montgomery isn’t a boy,” Phillip said solemnly.
Montgomery looked at his eldest brother coolly but said nothing. Robin’s favorite pastime, when not doting on his wife and children and decimating whatever garrison knights he could find to face him in the lists, was tormenting his younger brothers. Montgomery supposed he could be loitering on the far side of three score and Robin would still treat him as if he were a green lad of ten-and-two.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Robin said, stroking his chin thoughtfully, as if he actually gave serious thought to the matter. “He looks like a boy to me.”
“He’s taller than you are, Rob,” Nicholas said, apparently struggling not to laugh. “I’d tread carefully.”
“But he’s weak in his limbs,” Robin said, reaching for his sword belt and unbuckling it. He poked Montgomery in the arm with his sheathed sword, hard enough that Montgomery would have flinched if he’d been made of less stern stuff. “That comes, I understand, from too much time spent at court, delighting the ladies with his rapier wit and lovely eyes. It certainly doesn’t do anything for the strength of arm or skill with a blade.”
Nicholas laughed and walked away. Jake only lifted a shoulder in a half shrug and turned to follow him. Kendrick accepted his father’s sword with wide eyes and a slackened jaw.
“I’ll take your sword, Uncle,” Phillip said, with only the slightest quaver in his voice. “You won’t need it. Will you?”
“I wouldn’t want to do any more damage to your sire than my fists will accomplish,” Montgomery said, handing his sword to his would-be squire. He managed it in the heartbeat before that squire’s father launched himself forward to prove his doubters wrong.
It had been, he decided as he landed flat on his back and lost his wind, too long since he had engaged his brother in a friendly contest of strength. Robin might have been rumored to have gone to fat, but he had certainly not gone to seed, and he was nothing if not wily. And strong. And full of insults that would have earned him a brisk slap to the back of his head had their grandmother been anywhere within earshot.
“Don’t wear yourself out, Rob,” Jake said dryly after an appropriate amount of time had passed. “You don’t want to be too tired to enjoy a decent supper.”
“ ’ Tis just a bit of light exerci—”
Montgomery slammed his forehead into Robin’s mouth to shut him up. It earned him an instant increase in ill will from his sibling, as well as quite a bit of his brother’s blood dripping onto his face. He finally shoved his brother off him, then staggered to his feet.
“Enough, damn you,” Montgomery said, his chest heaving.
“I’ve other things to do besides school you in manners.”
Nicholas hauled Robin to his feet, then kept hold of his arm. “Aye, enough,” he agreed with a half laugh. “He still has a castle to lay siege to.”
Robin stood there, breathing more easily than he should have. He dragged his sleeve across his mouth, scowled at the blood left there, then looked at Nicholas. “I think his peasants have made off with great chunks of the foundation. As long as he doesn’t mind slithering through one of the leftover holes, he’ll be fine.”
Montgomery brushed the leaves from his hair and declined to point out that he had been conserving his strength for the possibility of just such an assault. “A rematch, when my floor is clean.”
“Let’s just hope your floor is flat,” Robin said with a snort, “and not sporting a dozen holes the size of your horse.”
Montgomery hoped not as well, though he supposed that was more optimistic than perhaps he should have been. He allowed hi
s brothers to gather up their sons and turned to face his own future.
Sedgwick, of all places.
What in the hell had he done to deserve that?
He could speculate on several things readily enough, though he knew he should put that speculation off until he’d gained his own supper table where he could think at his leisure.
Unfortunately, now that he was faced with the sight of his father’s generosity, he couldn’t keep himself from it. Sedgwick was, as Robin had rightly said, a rat-infested hole, but it had the potential to be a quite spectacular rat-infested hole. That his father had given it to him, the youngest of all, instead of to whom it rightly belong—
Robin slapped him—rather gently all things considered—on the back of the head, startling him.
“You think too much.”
Montgomery shot his eldest brother a dark look. “How would you know?”
“Because I recognize the symptoms,” Robin said, lifting an eyebrow. “My life now is nothing but easy movement from one moment of bliss to the next, but it wasn’t always so.”
Montgomery studied the castle for another moment or two, then looked at his brother. “Why do you think Father gave this to me?”
“Because you are the only one of us desperate enough to take it,” Robin said solemnly. “Or stupid enough. I’m not sure which it is.”
Nicholas laughed and pushed Robin out of the way so he could sling his arm around Montgomery’s neck. “Ignore him. We’ll discuss the vagaries of Fate and inheritances given by Rhys de Piaget after we’ve managed to get past your gate guards and see what’s left of your keep. I have my own thoughts on the matter, as you might imagine.”
Montgomery didn’t doubt it, given that their father had gifted Nicholas a keep that had been missing most of its roof when Nicholas had taken possession of it. At least Sedgwick’s roof looked to be intact.