Love Came Just in Time (9 page)

“I take it that count you insulted didn't feel the same about it?”

Miles smiled. “Indeed, he did not. And I am not shy about expressing my opinions, whether I am in my cups or not.”

“Was your grandfather upset with you?”

“Nay. You see, of all his grandsons, he says I remind him overmuch of himself.” He smiled modestly, then continued. “My eldest brother, Robin, would rather grumble and curse under his breath. Nicholas is a peacemaker and rarely says aught to offend. My younger brothers are giddy maids, talking of nothing but whatever ladyloves they are currently wooing.” He smiled again. “I, on the other hand, am surly and moody and generally make certain others know that.”

“Oh, boy, surly
and
moody,” she said, with delight. “And to think I could have landed in the moat of someone who was merely agreeable and deferring.”

“And how dull you would have found him to be,” he said with a grin. “My grandsire shares my temperament. I am his favorite, of course.”

“Of course,” she agreed, dryly. “You were just lucky he happened by when he did.”

“It is perhaps more than luck. I learned later one of his servants had been passing by and heard me telling the count rather loudly that he was a mindless twit.”

“Oh, Miles,” she laughed. “You'd make a terrible diplomat.”

“Aye,” he agreed. “'Tis fortunate I'll never pursue that calling.”

“Then what is it you intend to pursue?” She knew it was a loaded question, but she couldn't stop herself from asking it.

His smile deepened. “I intend to pursue you, of course.”

“Really?” she squeaked. She cleared her throat and tried again in a more dignified tone. “Really,” she said, hoping it sounded casual.

He nodded. “Aye. But how is a twentieth-century girl wooed? Gifts?”

“Well, it is almost Christmas.”

He frowned. “And you plan on making me participate in the festivities?”

“If I can do it, so can you.” She had her own reasons for finding Christmas difficult, but she managed each year. Miles could, too. “We could spruce up the place a little.”

“Aye,” he agreed, sounding reluctant.

“Come on, grumpy. It'll be fun.”

“Fun?” he echoed doubtfully.

“As in enjoyable, entertaining. We'll do some cleaning and sprucing and you'll feel much better about the season. Trust me. And while we're cleaning, I'll tell you the story of Ebeneezer Scrooge.” She laughed. “Talk about the Ghost of Christmas Past! Boy, this puts a whole new spin on that one.”

Miles only blinked at her.

“We may have to forgo the gifts,” she continued. “I would have put those Jelly Bellies in your stocking, but you ate them all.”

Miles burped discreetly. “And they were delicious. Is that how 'tis done in your day? Sprucing and giving?”

“Pretty much.”

He reached over, put his hand behind her head and pulled her toward him. “You are the best gift I could have asked for,” he murmured against her lips. “I need nothing else.”

Abby closed her eyes as he kissed her. Was it possible to fall in love with someone so soon?

It was much later that she managed to catch her breath enough to ask if he thought the stew was finished.

“Do you care?” he asked, with a twinkle in his eye. “My appetite is running more toward more of your mouth. I can guarantee it is more tasty than what boils in yon pot.”

“Who needs food?” Abby managed.

And that was the last thing she said for a very long time.

MILES STRUGGLED TO fashion the soft straw into a bow. “Will this do?” he asked, holding it up.

“Well, it isn't raffia, but we'll survive.”

Miles handed her the bow, then leaned his elbows on the table and watched her rummaging through his stores for other appropriately Christmassy items, as she called them.

He'd slept poorly the night before. He'd been tempted to blame it on his stew. It had been, in a word, inedible. More than likely it had been sleeping so close to Abigail and not touching her. Garretts didn't do that sort of thing before marriage—not that he'd expected anything else. He wouldn't take her until he'd wed her. The thought of it sent a thrill of something through him; he wasn't sure if it was excitement or terror. He'd always known he would take a wife sooner or later. It had certainly suited his brothers well enough, though the wooing of their ladies had been tumultuous.

Miles stole a look at Abigail and wondered if the courting of her would take such a toll on him. He didn't think so. She looked fairly serene as she sifted through his things. Perhaps she would accept him well enough as time went on.

He watched her and couldn't help but smile. It seemed a better thing to do than shake his head, which was what he had been doing since she'd started telling him future things the eve before. Airplanes, cars, trains, microwaves; the list was endless. It would take him a lifetime to draw from her all the things she took for granted, things he hadn't even imagined, well-traveled though he might have been.

“Abigail, what sort of work did you do in your day?” he asked.

“I was a secretary for an insurance salesman,” she said, frowning at a bow. She flashed him a brief smile. “People paid this man a certain amount of money each month just in case they died or their house went up in flames. If that happened, then he would replace the house or pay the family money to compensate for the deceased. I wrote out all his correspondence and things on a machine called a computer. And I watered his plants. I hated it.”

“What would you rather have been doing?”

“Anything but that.” She fingered a fig. “I always wanted to be a gardener. I love to watch things grow. A family would have been nice, too.”

“I see,” he said. No wonder she had found Brett so lacking. The man obviously didn't share her sentiments about marriage. But why was she so concerned with sprucing and giving? Was that all part of it?

“Why is this Christmassy fuss so important to you?” he asked.

He might not have noticed her hesitation if he hadn't been watching her so closely. But he noticed it, and he certainly noticed the false smile she put on for his benefit.

“'Tis the season, ho, ho, ho, and all that,” she said, brightly.

“Hmmm,” Miles said, thoughtfully. She was lying, obviously. He looked at her sad little pile of straw bows, then back up at her.

“How did you celebrate in your time?”

“Oh, there's a lot to it. You have to decorate the house with a tree and ornaments and greenery. All the family gets together and there's lots of food and laughter.” She gave another piece of straw a hard yank. “It's the family togetherness thing.”

Miles reached out and put his hand over hers. “Abigail, I want to know how
you
celebrated.”

She looked away. “I went to my grandmother's. Until she and my granddad died.”

“Then it must have been quite festive. Tell me of your siblings. What a clan you must have been with a houseful of Garretts.”

“Oh, it was a houseful, all right,” she said. “I don't have any brothers or sisters, but I have lots of cousins and aunts and uncles. They would all show up with gifts and things.”

“And what of your parents?”

Abby shrugged. “They usually took me there and left me. They never stayed.” She smiled at him briefly. “They always had other things to do.”

Miles's chest tightened. He tried to pull her into his arms, but she wouldn't come.

“I was something of a surprise,” she said, walking over to the kitchen hearth. “They had me after they'd been married almost twenty years. They had never wanted children and it was too inconvenient to fit me into their lifestyle, I guess.”

“Oh, Abigail,” Miles said softly.

“Don't,” she said, holding up her hand. “I didn't tell you so you could feel sorry for me. I've had a great life. My grandparents were wonderful. I didn't need my mom and dad to make my life any better than it was.”

He digested that for a few minutes. This obviously went deeper than that.

“So these Christmassy items remind you of your grandparents?”

She shrugged. “I suppose. Or maybe I just want what they had.”

Miles understood. His father worshipped his mother and she him. They had their disagreements, surely, but there had never been a time that Miles had doubted their love for each other. Not that every household in England ran thusly. Most marriages were made to form alliances and were likely devoid of love. Miles knew his parents were something of an exception. Abigail obviously wanted such an exceptional marriage. Miles smiled to himself. And him right there to give it to her. Life was indeed miraculous.

“I want the whole enchilada,” she was saying. “I want a husband who loves me. I want children. I want real Christmases with lights and a tree and my own family there around me. I want a fireplace.”

Miles considered the last. 'Twas obvious improvements would have to be made to the hall.

“And while we're talking about marriage, let me be perfectly clear on this. I want a husband who will stick by me when things get rough, who won't bail at the first sign of trouble.” She shot him a challenging look.

“Bail?”

“Leave. Run away.”

“Ah, I see.”

“So you do.”

She had planted her hands on her waist again. Miles had the feeling she was gearing up for battle. He was beginning to suspect he might be the enemy.

“Then you don't want a man who would run off when things became difficult,” he offered, wanting to make sure he understood.

“That's right, bucko.”

“Anything else?”

She held up her hand and began using her fingers to tick off her items of importance.

“He can't dress better than I do, he can't smell better than I do, and he has to have a job.”

“A job?”

“An occupation. He can't just sit around the house watching TV all day and expect me to pay all the bills.”

Miles clasped his hands behind his back. “And?”

She was silent for a moment. “He has to love me,” she said, quietly.

Well, that was done easily enough. Miles suspected he'd fallen in love with her the first time she'd begun to wheeze.

The occupation item was a problem. Miles leaned back against the worktable and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. He could build Speningethorpe up and turn it into a profitable estate, but would that be enough for Abigail? 'Twas certain he would have to do something with his hands so as not to appear idle. Perhaps he would send for his hounds. He'd bred them in his youth, as he'd managed to keep himself home until he was almost two-and-ten. Aye, there was always a market for a finely-trained hound.

And if hounds weren't substantial enough, he would look to horses. His mother had a fine eye for horseflesh. When he took Abigail to Artane, he would seek his mother's opinion on the matter.

Miles considered Abigail's other items. It was certain he wasn't dressed better than she; he was wearing his oldest pair of hose. They were worn through at the knee, but better bare knees than a bare arse, to his mind. He was quite certain she smelled far better than he did. She certainly would once he took to cleaning out the kennels.

All in all, he thought he just might suit.

He flashed her a brief smile and started toward the great hall. There was no time like the present to see the future accounted for. It was just barely midday. If he rode hard, he could be to Seakirk Abbey and back by dawn. The abbot would likely be there for the Christmas celebrations. Miles had no qualms about using whatever tactics were necessary to see the man on a horse heading north with him. No doubt his own reputation as a convicted heretic would serve him. His elder brothers had already spread the tale from one end of the isle to the other, embellishing it with each retelling. Miles had been livid at first, especially since they had found it to be such a fine jest. Now, he thought the blot on his past just might serve him well.

“Where are you going?”

The desperate tone of Abigail's voice made him pause. He looked at her as he threw his cloak around his shoulders and pulled on his gloves.

“I've things to see to.”

Her jaw went slack. “Just like that?”

“Abigail, I've a task to see to—”

“I bare my soul to you,” she said, sounding irritated, “and all you can do is walk away?”

“Abigail—”

“Great!” she exclaimed. “This is just
great!”

He paused and considered. If he told her what he was about, heaven only knew what she would say. She might say she thought he should take a swim in his moat. Worse yet, she might leave.

He couldn't bring himself to think about that. Only last night he had begun to realize just what he would be asking her to give up to remain with him.

He couldn't bear the thought of having her say him nay.

Aye, 'twas best he had the priest handy when he informed her of his intentions. Garretts never did things by halves, and neither did de Piagets.

“There's wood enough for the fire,” he said, “so you shouldn't freeze—”

“It's about the sex thing, isn't it,” she demanded.

“Well, aye,” he said, with a nod, “that's part of it, surely.” He certainly wouldn't take her 'til he'd wed her and the sooner he'd wed her, the happier he would be.

“Ooohh,” she said, grinding her teeth. She picked up a piece of wood and heaved it at him. “You're such a jerk!”