Clandestine (40 page)

“This
kaaa
is for you
kaaa
.” Vader handed Marc a pillow with the parish church in Marfield embroidered into it. The exact pillow the gift shop at Haldon Manor sold.

Marc raised a questioning eyebrow. Vader shrugged as if to say,
Your guess is as good as mine
.

“I am also
kaaa
supposed to do this
kaaa
.” Vader then pushed a button on his chest.

The peppy strains of ‘The Way You Make Me Feel’ rent the air.

And then Vader danced.

Not
well
. But danced nonetheless. A Michael Jackson routine, circa 1982.

He finished with a flourishing moon-walk.

It was about the awesomest thing Marc had seen in a
very
long while.

Marc clapped appreciatively.

Kit
. It had to be Kit.

Only she would arrange something that incredible.

Relief washed through him, breathtaking in its intensity.

And just like that color bounced from the green grass. The sky vibrated a flourishing blue. Birds sang in the trees.

Laughing, he stared at the embroidered pillow, puzzled.

“It’s
kaa
a clue.” Vader said, gesturing toward the pillow. “Treasure
kaa
hunt.”

Ah. That made sense.

Marc slapped the man on the back and tipped him five quid.

And then grabbed his car keys.

James was lounging against a jauntily angled tombstone in the parish churchyard when Marc walked through the gate.

James’ own tombstone, to be precise.

Which wasn’t nearly as awkward as the large bouquet of yellow roses James held in his hand.

“I’m not sure if you’re waiting for a lover or mourning your own death two hundred years too late,” Marc said as he walked up.

James shrugged. “It could go either way, really.”

James nonchalantly patted his tombstone. It was worn and weathered, the lettering long ago faded. Which explained why none of them had known it was James’ until recently.

James straightened and walked over to Marc, handing him the roses.

“Good thing this isn’t uncomfortable.” Marc took the flowers, a wry grin on his face.

James chuckled. “Kit initially wanted me to dress up as a scarlet partridge for some reason, but I said a firm
no
. Turns out my pride does have limits. Compared to a scarlet partridge costume, just holding yellow roses didn’t seem so bad.”

“Probably part of her ploy all along.”

“She seems like the type who would appreciate the awkward.”

Marc laughed at that. And then studied the flowers. What was this clue?

“She said you would know what they meant.” James indicated the flowers.

“Yellow roses? Treachery and death?”

“Kit said I was to correct you. These are friendly
golden
roses.” James patted them just to emphasize the point. “Not sure how that makes a difference.”

As, yes. Well. That did make an enormous difference.

“If your smile were any more punch-drunk happy, I would think your wits addled.” James added a deep nineteenth century gravitas to his accent.

“Can’t help it. The sun’s shining.”

“She is an amazing woman. Congratulations. Not that I thought you would ever fall this hard for someone who wasn’t worthy of you.” James clapped him on the shoulder. “Go find her, my friend.”

Though pressed tight against the modern road, the Golden Rose Inn looked remarkably the same, minus the stable yard. A sign with yellow roses still hung over the doorway, though it had been given a bit of a modern touch.

The inside was eerily untouched by time. The man behind the bar directed Marc to the same private parlor along the front of the building with its paned windows and dark paneling. Though the room appeared to be used as an office now.

Emme sat behind the desk, a decidedly amused grin on her face.

Marc nodded at her, his own smile so broad it nearly hurt his cheeks.

Emme took one look at his face and laughed.

Standing, she came and wrapped her arms around him, giving him a tight hug. “I’m so happy for you.”

A thought occurred to Marc. “Wait. How did Kit arrange all this?”

“Online social media. I’m not too hard to find.”

Marc nodded.

“Did Vader actually dance for you?” Emme asked with a chuckle.

“He did indeed.”

“I understand Kit made him do all his dance moves twice for her. Just to make sure.”

Marc laughed. “Man, I have missed her so much.”

Emme patted his back. “Sit.” She turned and gestured toward a leather club chair in the corner.

With a lift of his eyebrow, Marc did. Emme handed him a tablet with a webpage loaded on it.

FauxPause.

“I was told to have you read this.”

And so Marc did.

Lessons Learned from
Croc-nami

Hello world. Yes, you really did read that title correctly.
Croc-nami
does indeed have a moment or two of brilliance.

And there’s not a drop of sarcasm in that statement.

Usually I would do some oh-so-witty online review involving my id, ego and superego. However, today I have decided to embrace my entire self: the good, the bad and the indifferent. Hence, no split personalities in this post.

So, yes, I actually sat down and watched all of
Croc-nami
. Not just the two hundred and forty second preview of Marc Wilde’s abs (
still
the best part of the film, but I digress . . . ).
Croc-nami
is no
Citizen Kane
and will not be bringing home an Oscar. But I do think it is destined to become a cult classic. Which leads me to my next point . . .

There is this part in the movie (right before Mr. Wilde cuts a path through an airport full of crocs with his chainsaw) where he turns to a battered friend and asks: “Why are we killing these crocs for being themselves? They aren’t inherently evil. They’re just being true to their croc-ish nature.”

Which is when I had a personal epiphany. We often metaphorically kill or stifle those we love, trying to force them to make decisions that go against the very nature of who they are. In the words of many a poet and songwriter: If you love someone, set them free.

This has been the painful lesson
Croc-nami
taught me. Letting go of those I love is hard. But I have to let go in order to have my hands free to embrace my future.

And what a glorious future it is. A chance to be with those who will always be there for me. To create the home I have always craved.

Marc set down the tablet with a deep breath.

“Where is she?” he asked, glancing at his sister.

“Where do you think?”

The answer was obvious. She was home.

“Oh and Marc,” Emme said as he turned for the door, “thank you for coming back. I am glad to have you here.”

The road to Whitmoor hadn’t changed much in the past two hundred years either. The dry stack stone fence stood a little higher and covered in more moss, but Marc recognized the landscape.

A sign at the entrance to the lane told him the house was closed for the day, but a caretaker waved him through when Marc gave his name. Marc pulled down the lane and then parked in the gravel beside the stables.

Walking across the front of the house, he ran a hand along the aged honey stone. Loving the hodge-podge nature of the house. No one was about, but he had a hunch.

Reaching the side of the central, medieval tower, he smiled at the small servant’s door. Was even the wood the same? It seemed so ancient.

Sliding a hand between the wall and the door, he found the groove with the chain and pulled. The door swung open.

He walked up the stone stairs and into the great medieval hall. Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, un-shuttered now. Banners hung along the walls and the enormous fireplace still dominated the space. But the room was spotlessly clean and the furniture different. Most of the area was roped off.

No sitting or lying on settees this time around.

But he noted all of this only in passing.

Because there she was.

Kit.

His
Kit.

Leaning with her hand against the wall by the first window.

Jaw-droppingly gorgeous in a wine-red satin dress and stilettos.

A retro 1950s dress with a tight waist and subtle crinoline that stopped at her knees, highlighting a fabulous pair of bare legs. Her hair tumbled across her shoulders, shiny and waving into subtle curls.

And make-up. Not heavy, caked on . . . no, that wouldn’t be Kit’s style. But enough to make her eyes luminously large and her lips even more kissable.

Yet, it was more than that.

With Kit, the external merely manifested the internal. The fierceness of her heart, the quickness of her mind, her spunky outlook on life. The fact that the entire world seemed brighter and more alive because she was in it.

Marc literally forgot to breathe.

Had it really only been two days? It felt like a lifetime.

“Hey.” She smiled, clearly not missing the effect she had on him.

Minx.

He matched her smile with a slow, lazy grin of his own.

“Hey you.” He walked toward her.

Drinking in every last inch of her saucy Kit-ness.

“Fancy meeting a fine, handsome gentleman like yourself here,” she said, heady and breathless.

He gave a look which clearly said he would fancy meeting her anywhere, anytime. He stopped in front of her.

Ever so deliberately, he placed a hand into the wall too, just above her head.

Leisurely perused her from head to toe, lingering on her lips longer than anywhere else. Loving the jump of her pulse in her throat.

Hoping he had made her tingle everywhere his eyes touched.

“Go figure. I walk through the door and find the most beautiful woman in all of Britain. Past
or
present.”

Her eyes flared gratifyingly.

He leaned in so close he was sure she could feel the scorching heat of him.

Two could play at this game.

He wasn’t a World Champion Flirt for nothing.

“So why aren’t we kissing yet?” she asked, biting her bottom lip.

Plump and ever-so-kissable. Teasing. Just to torture him.

Talk about World Championship Flirting.

He reached out and traced his fingertips up her neck, along the silky skin of her jaw. Leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

“Does such desperate begging for a kiss actually work?”

She closed the few inches between them, fisted her hands into his t-shirt, a wicked smile on her face.

“Every. Single. Time,” she said.

With a groan, Marc crushed her against him. Lost himself in the lush promise of her lips.

Soft and ever-so-sweet.

Kit ran her hands up his chest, over his shoulders, threading her fingers into his hair. Holding his mouth tight against hers.

It was a
long
while before either of them came up for air.

“Mmmmm.” Her breath feather-light against his lips. “I don’t know if my hands will ever stop itching to touch these magnificent shoulders of yours.” She emphasized her point by wrapping her arms around said shoulders.

Chuckling, Marc gathered her even closer, burrowing his nose into her hair, until his lips were just an inch from her ear.

And then ever so softly whispered, “Itching, eh? That wouldn’t happen to be due to a festering rash, would it?”

At
last.
That did it.

Kit threw back her head and laughed. That wicked, delighted, throaty laugh so uniquely hers.

Finally!

Grinning widely, Marc caught her up in his arms. “I won!” he crowed, spinning her around. “You laughed! That means I get one of your secrets.”

Kit twined her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly, still giggling in his ear. “You can have all my secrets, Mr. Wilde.”

“Like the fact that you actually watched
Croc-nami
?” He set her down, but still kept both arms wrapped firmly around her.

“Exactly! Though that is hardly a secret anymore. I also watched all three
Ninja Pirate
movies,
The Fast and the Spurious, The Docs of Hazard
and even dredged up a copy of
The Codfather
.”

“Wow. I don’t even think my own
mother
has watched that one yet. That’s an act of true love.”

She laughed again and tugged on his jacket collar, pressing her nose into his throat.

“I hoped you would see it that way,” she murmured, pulling back slightly.

“I am so sorry. About the portal—”

“Hush. I’m at peace with it.” She placed a finger over his lips. “I found the letter Daniel left for me, and it explained everything.”

She told him the tale. That Daniel was actually the first Lord Whitmoor—the man who started their family dynasty in the first place.

Marc blinked. Stunned. “So . . . let me get this straight. Daniel is his own great-great-whatever—”

“Seventh,” Kit helpfully supplied.

“Right.” Marc cocked his head. “Daniel is his own seventh great-grandfather?”

She nodded.

He opened his mouth. Started to speak. Stopped. Shook his head. “That . . . that is unexpected. Isn’t this one of those time travel conundrums that should be impossible?”

Kit laughed. “Probably. I’m sure someone somewhere is having a serious conniption fit over it. But it honestly doesn’t bother me. It’s just one more way in which I’m connected with Daniel. Even though he is gone, I suddenly feel him around me all the time. I mean, he deliberately purchased the house I live in. Established the barony in such a way that I could inherit it. All done with
me
in mind. How could I not feel of his love through acts like that?”

“True. And despite you having different goals for your lives, you still love each other.”