Spirited Away (12 page)

She was
beautiful.

And she thought him a big, horse's arse.

Damnation, he'd felt like one earlier. The look on her face as he'd jumped back, allowing her to fall, would forever be emblazoned on his sorry memory. He deserved it, no doubt.

He should never have allowed her to come.

But, he thought as he studied her, she
was
here. Here to help unearth the unknown being in his bailey. And hopefully, to find out more about the weapons—

With a jerk, Andi sat straight up and gasped, her hand covering her heart. "Please! What do you want from me?"

Tristan quickly glanced down at himself. He'd not materialized. On a closer look, he noticed she wasn't even looking in his direction.

She shook her head. "No. They're going to think I'm crazy. I ... I can't do this."

Tristan scanned the room. Who was she talking to? By all the saints' blood,
was
she daft? Christ, the poor lass.

Uttering a weary sigh, Andrea rose from the window seat, slipped on her shoes, and walked right past Tristan. Crossing to the door, she eased silently out into the corridor, closing the heavy oak behind her.

Only a scant moment passed before Tristan walked through the door and followed. Down the corridor, the steps, across the great hall, Andi finally stopped at the entrance to the dungeon.

Glancing around, she opened the door and stepped inside. Tristan followed.

Once inside, he saw the beam of light from her torch sweep the floor as she descended. He hadn't seen her pick one up from her chamber. Where had she gotten it from? He watched, amazed, as she crept down the spiraling steps and crossed the dungeon floor, stopping in the center.

"Okay, I'm here. Now what?" she asked.

He took in the darkened chamber. Saints, how he hated the place. Who was she talking to?

Scanning the crumbled mortar walls with the beam of her torch, Andi slowly made a circle until she'd gone full round. Then she swept the floor. "I just don't know what you—oh, wow."

Dropping to her knees, she dug the hard-packed dirt away with the butt of her torch. Turning it over and anchoring it with her chin, she stared at the illuminated spot, brushing it with her hand, then leaning over and gently blowing. "Whoa. No way."

In the glow of the flashlight, Tristan watched Andi, mesmerized. Damnation, she was indeed engrossed in the task at hand. What in bloody hell had she found on the floor of his dungeon? He crept a bit closer, bent over at the waist, rested his hands on his thighs, and peered over her shoulder at the brushed area.

Bleeding saints. It couldn't be.

"Hello? Are you still here?" she asked. A few minutes of silence passed, then, "Hello?" With a shake of her head, she glanced back down. "No freaking way."

By the devil, he couldn't believe his eyes. Then, before he could step out of the way, Andi stood and whirled around.

And walked right through him.

She froze, back stiff, breathing rapid. After a moment, she moved up the stairs and quit the dungeon, latching the heavy door behind her.

With a flick of his wrist, torches on the wall blazed and flickered. Tracing his previous steps, he knelt over the place Andrea had unearthed.

"Saints, I hate this foul place. Well, what have you there?"

Tristan looked up. First Kail appeared, followed by Jason. Within seconds, the rest of the Dragonhawk garrison had gathered around the freshly turned dirt. He shook his head. "See for yourself." Turning his head, he met each man's stare. "I gather none of you are responsible for luring the lady in here, aye?"

A unison of mumbled nays sounded in the chamber.

Kail squatted down beside Tristan and peered at the overturned earth. "Christ, Tristan. 'Tis a bit of mail."

"Aye. And Dr. Monroe was led here by someone. I did not see, nor hear, but it happened all the same." He glanced at his captain. "If a spirit is the culprit, then why can't we see or hear it?"

"And why would it show itself only to the lady?" Jason asked. "If 'tis a piece of mail, then why not show it to one of us?"

"Mayhap because she's a woman?"

Tristan turned to the knight. "That is something to think on, Sir Richard." He shook his head. " 'Tis useless information if we cannot see or hear the spirit." Looking back at the links of steel mail, he squinted his eyes. "I wonder what else she'll dig up." Rising up, he addressed the garrison of men.

"We shall all be on watch from here on out. Jason, I want you at the lady's door during her sleeping hours. If she pokes one little foot out of her chamber, I want to know about it."

Jason nodded once. "Aye, my lord. Consider it done."

"The rest of you will simply watch her during the day, invisible, of course. But allow her privacy."

Tristan met each man's eye as they answered. They were incomparable to any others, his knights.

They'd warred together, squired together, and they'd all been fostered together. Not once had they failed him. As they wouldn't now.

Turning, he moved to the stairs.

"Where are you off to, my lord?" Sir Richard asked.

Tristan stopped and inclined his head. "This foul place reeks and I'm ready to be done with it.

Besides, I've got a lady to watch over."

Snickers rumbled behind him as he quit the dungeon.

Chapter Eight

After hours of tossing and turning, Andi checked the time on her wristwatch once more.
Five fifty-five.
Jeez, it seemed as though the night had dragged by, one painful second at a time. She could stand it no longer. Besides, Kirk would be at the site by eight and she didn't want to waste any time.

Slipping out of bed, she washed her face, brushed her teeth, and pulled on a pair of khakis, a white tank top, and a light blue sweater, slipped on her Crocs, then left the room.

Awake or not, Lord Dreadmoor would make the time to speak to her about the strange things going on right under his nose. And her plan to do something about it.

She'd marked her limit and could take no more. If someone was playing jokes on her, it would stop.

Had to stop. Now.

Farther along the hazy corridor she went, courage in hand, until she arrived at Tristan's door. Lifting her hand, she paused, knuckles hovering over the solid oak. Should she? Shouldn't she? Should?

Shouldn't? Ugh.

"By the saints, Andrea, open the door. I vow I can hear your breathing through the wood. Come in."

The sound of Tristan's deep voice washed over her, caused her breath to hitch, and she swallowed at least twice before opening the door.

She almost wished she hadn't.

He was bare to the waist, and his hair hung in dark tousled hanks past his shoulders, resting against chunks of a rock-muscled chest. A pair of deep maroon drawstring pants hung low on his hips ...

"Oh, I'm sorry ..." Andi blinked, unable to stop herself from staring, then resisted the urge to rub the disbelief from her eyes. "Why," she said, pointing to his hip, "are you wearing that?"

Sapphire-blue eyes widened when Tristan glanced down at the sword strapped to his side. A flash of annoyance followed by a quick recovery settled across his features. He lifted one dark eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest.

"A bit of a workout before starting the day." He cocked his handsome head to one side, studying her from toe to eyebrow. "Why? Is there aught amiss at this early hour, Andrea?"

Whew, the heat in the room crept up her neck and she squelched the urge to fan herself. "As a matter of fact, yes, there is aught amiss." She made her eyes focus on his face and not the washboard abs.

Crossing the room, he waved her to the chair, then leaned a hip against the desk. "Well, Dr. Monroe, by all means tell me about it."

Ooh, the way he said her name, spearing her with such hot looks, staring at her mouth—he made it very difficult to concentrate. Attraction sizzled and snapped in the room. He knew it, and he knew
she
knew it.
Grr.

Lowering herself into the overstuffed leather chair, she drew a deep breath and met his fiery stare with a hot one of her own. No way would she allow him to get the best of her.

"By the by, you look passing lovely this morn. If I may be so bold."

Grr.

She wondered if her neck was as red as it felt. "Thank you. Now, I know this is going to sound really strange, but here goes." Another deep breath. "Remember the first night I was here?"

A slow smile spread across his face, deep dimples pitting his five o'clock-shadowed cheeks. "Oh, aye. Of a certainty, how could I forget?"

Ignore, ignore, ignore.
"I was frightened out in the bailey by"—she lifted her shoulder

—"something. Or someone. And twice since. I don't know how it's being done, unless." She hesitated for a second as he watched her. "Unless you've a ghost in your hall."

Tristan rubbed his jaw. "A ghost in my hall, you say? There's been rumors aplenty for centuries, so it's nothing new, I assure you. Why do you think a ghost has approached you?"

God, it sounded even more stupid when said aloud—especially coming out of someone else's mouth. "It's nothing I can see. It's more of a ... feeling. A presence, maybe." She shook her head and rubbed her brow. "I sound completely nuts. I'm a scientist. I don't believe in ghosts or the presence of one." She stared him down. "But I do believe there's something in your dungeon worth checking out. I'll work after dark each evening, when I'm finished with the cutaway in the bailey." She leaned forward. "It won't interfere with what you've hired me to do, I promise." She sighed. "Please, allow me to excavate your dungeon? I've felt something, a pull, to this place ever since I was a teenager. I promise to put everything back to rights, and I swear I'll reveal my findings only to you."

A muscle flinched at his jaw. His brows pulled together as he studied her with such a thorough intenseness she nearly squirmed in her seat. Finally, he rubbed his jaw and nodded. "I see no harm in allowing you this extra activity. But tell me, what do you think you'll find in my dungeon?"

"Well," she began, "I sort of already found something." She gave him a wan smile. "I was led down there by ... let's call it a sixth sense."

Again with the intense stare, this one longer than the last. "You may begin with your promised revealing of information, posthaste."

"Fair enough." She rose from her chair and moved toward him. In a flash, he placed himself behind and at the other end of the desk.

Andi frowned. "I don't bite, you know. I've even had all my shots."

Gone was the smoky look his face held earlier, replaced now by a look of complete boredom. "I don't know what you mean by that, but get on with your findings, if you would." He checked the clock on his desk. "I've an appointment to ready myself for."

Wow. Talk about changing gears. One minute the look he gave dripped with lust. The next, total disinterest.
That's not why you're here, Andrea Kinley Monroe. Forget him, just do the job.

Ugh, why was her inner voice always right?

She nodded. "Just below the surface of the dirt I discovered what I believe to be a few links of steel-gauged chain mail. I can't tell the age, of course, but there's bound to be more down there." She glanced at her watch. "I'll send for the rest of my equipment—a generator and GPS unit. I ..." She paused and pushed her hair behind her ear. "Thank you for allowing me this opportunity. It means a lot to me." She stared in silence for a moment before turning for the door.

"Until later, Andrea."

At the door she turned, nodded, then left the chamber.

Once Andrea's footsteps disappeared down the corridor, Tristan flung himself into the chair. He rubbed his brow with thumb and forefinger, then closed his eyes. Saints, he couldn't take much more ...

"You look like hell, de Barre. What ails the fierce and powerful Dragonhawk this fine morn?"

Tristan cracked open one eye and stared at his captain. "Kail, you horse's arse. What think you ails me?"

"I daresay, sir, if you'll forgive my boldness. But you're not yourself when around the lady." Jason materialized and added. "You're passing ... stodgy. My lord."

Tristan threw his young knight a glare. "If you know what's good for you, pup, you'll mind that cocksure tongue of yours."

Jason pressed his lips together, then nodded. "Of course. Cocksure tongue being minded, posthaste.

Sir."

Kail walked over and leaned against the desk. "I don't see why you're so dismal. The lass seems passing agreeable. Being right honest, I'd say."

"Of course you'd say. You're not the one who has to sit and lie for scores of minutes at a time. You're not the one who has to pretend to be someone you're not."

"You didn't lie, my lord. Not once," Jason said. " 'Twas only minutes earlier, before the lady showed up, when you and I were dueling with the blades." He smiled. " 'Tis a workout of sorts, methinks."

"Methinks 'tis not the lying our Lord Dreadmoor is worried about," said Kail. He grinned and leaned forward, tapping Tristan on the head. " 'Tis being in close quarters with Lady Andi." He winked at Jason. "Aye?"

Jason raised one eyebrow. "Mayhap."

Tristan jumped from his seat and stormed past the two annoying men. "I didn't lie about an appointment, either. Meet me in the lists, the both of you." With a flick of his wrist, he conjured up his normal attire of chain mail. "I've a mind to work off my frustrations on you two dolts."

He disappeared, the sound of Kail's and Jason's laughter booming in his head, a frown tightening his face.

Stodgy, indeed.

What annoyed him fiercely was the fact that they were both right.

After a quick breakfast, Andi changed and geared up for the day. That was by far the easy part. The hard part was going to be to get that vision of a bare-bodied Tristan, complete with sword strapped to hip, and that glorious hair hanging wild around his broad shoulders, out of her head long enough to concentrate on unearthing the remains in the bailey.

Good luck, her inner voice taunted.

Dimples. Had she mentioned the man had dimples?