Spirited Away (20 page)

Kail smiled. "I usually do. Now come. I've a mind to best you this time."

Tristan strode toward the lists, ready to take his frustrations out on his captain. He feared an entire battle couldn't ease his thoughts of a certain brown-haired, hazel-eyed, beautiful archaeologist.

But it was worth a try.

Andi watched from her window as Tristan and Kail the giant—God, that man was huge—walked across the bailey, side by side. They stopped at the cutaway and stood, staring, Tristan pointing, Kail nodding his head. In a way it seemed perfectly normal, watching the two of them together, as though they were alive. But they were not. They were ghosts and Dreadmoor was full of them.

Filled with an entire garrison of ghosts, carrying on as though they still had a castle, a home, a life to defend. It was nothing short of amazing.

And it confused the hell out of her.

The whispered message rushed into her thoughts.
It is here. You're their only hope.
What did it mean?

Walking back to the shield, she once more sat cross-legged on the floor and pulled it onto her lap.

At least four feet in length, three feet in width, it was a thick, sturdy weapon that had saved Tristan from the sharp end of all sorts of medieval blades.
Too bad it hadn't saved him from the last one.

She paused, that same, familiar feeling slipping over her. With eyes glued to the mystical creature, she stared until she was forced to blink, stared at the incredible, watching eye. The Dragonhawk's eye.

With a sigh, she set the shield upright, turned back to her bed, pulled on her sneakers, and set off to find something to eat. Jameson had promised her something delicious for breakfast, and if she had any luck at all it would be super-rich and loaded with cholesterol. Lots of carbs, too. Maybe that would take her mind off a certain gallant knight whose incredible good looks and chivalristic ways made her sway just thinking about him.

She washed and dressed in a pair of faded jeans and tank top, then pulled her hair into a quick ponytail, and stepped out into the corridor. Jason jumped to avoid her passing right through him.

She blinked. "Ooh, sorry." How would she ever manage getting used to seeing so many ghostly knights?

After a charming grin, he gave her a low bow. "Good morn, lady. Did you manage any rest at all?"

Just talk to him, Monroe. You might as well face it. You're surrounded by spirits from the thirteenth
century. They're not going away.
She smiled. "Yes, I finally fell asleep." She made for the kitchen, the handsome young knight by her side.

Taller than her, he stood close to six foot, his brown hair pulled into a queue, a sword slapping his thigh as he walked. She'd never get over it. It was real, yet completely surreal. "Do you ... stay by my door every night?"

"Oh, aye." He bent his head to meet her eyes. "You're my charge, you see. A most important task, given in faith by my master."

Light green eyes filled with determination and honesty stared at her; then he inclined his head. "Did you think any more on the shield?"

Taking the steps down to the hall, Andi nodded. "Yes. I woke up with it on my mind. I even inspected it again."

"And did the same familiar feeling grip you as it did last eve?"

What a cute guy. "Yes. And I still couldn't place it." She gave him an assuring smile. "But I will."

At the kitchen door, Jason stopped and bowed once more. " 'Tis with regret I cannot open the door for you, lady. Enjoy your meal and I shall be at your immediate call, should you need anything."

"Thanks, Jason."

"My most honored pleasure." With a roguish grin, he disappeared.

Nope. Never in a million years would she get used to that. She smiled and pushed through the door.

Jameson stood at the stove, flipping something delicious smelling in a pan. He didn't even grace her with a look as she walked over to the enormous oak table and sat down.

"I see young Jason has taken full charge of your stay here at Dreadmoor. A fine lad, that one.

Hungry, Dr. Monroe?"

"Sure." A heavy sigh escaped her lips.

"Something amiss?"

Another sigh. "No, I guess not."

"I'm not convinced in the least. And I've a feeling you don't want me to be. " He cleared his throat and turned back to the stove. "I don't usually have the time for counsel, but you have caught me on a slow day. Tell me what is bothering you, my dear. No doubt you will anyway."

Andi couldn't help but smile. "Jameson, you're such a smooth talker."

"Yes, my lady, I know. Now proceed."

She blew a strand of hair from her eyes. "I wish Tristan wasn't dead."

Jameson choked on a gasp. "How's that?"

Walking over to the counter next to the stove, she eased up onto the surface and sat, legs dangling.

"I wish things could be different, Jameson. He's so ... nice."

This time Jameson did choke. Andi resisted the urge to slap him on the back to expel whatever had become lodged.

"Nice, you say? Promise me you won't make the mistake of allowing Himself to hear such an accusation. 'Twould make both of our lives much more difficult. Indeed."

She stared down at the floor. "I suppose it would be best if I tried to concentrate on my work, huh?"

Jameson rested a hand on Andi's shoulder. " 'Tisn't fair of me, lady, to advise one on such a delicate subject. It would, in my opinion, be best discussed with Lord Dreadmoor."

Andi rolled her eyes. "I knew you would say something like that."

Jameson swiftly lifted fried ham out of the pan and placed it on a plate. "If it is any consolation, young lady"—he turned and looked at her—"the master seems to have taken a fondness for you, as well."

"I like him, too."

Jameson, who looked decidedly uncomfortable at the tender moment, hastily retreated to the stiff, comforting, butlerish ways he was used to. "Now, if that's all the womanly drivel you have for me this morn, I shall see to your meal. 'Tis Thursday. Heath and Miss Kate will arrive in a few moments." He nodded. "My lady."

"Do they know? About Tristan and his men?"

Jameson's face blushed. "Aye, but were sworn to secrecy. Miss Kate adores the knights, and young Heath relishes the ground they walk on. No doubt the lad would live here, if his mum would allow it."

Andi smiled. "What about you?"

"What about me, lady?"

"I think you have the hots for Miss Kate."

Jameson coughed. "I've certainly no hots for anyone, young lady. 'Twouldn't be gentlemanly."

Andi leaned over and placed a quick peck on Jameson's cheek, then jumped down off the counter.

"Whatever, Jameson. I'll see you later."

Jameson's white eyebrows shot skyward in surprise. "No doubt."

After an eye-watering breakfast of spicy ham and eggs, Andi rushed to her room, brushed her teeth, then set off to work. She had plans to recover the rest of the bones today and get the tree cut and hauled, so maybe by the end of the week, she'd be able to get to the hoard.

Thoughts of Tristan crowded her already crowded mind. It seemed like a hopeless situation. Never before had she been so indecisive. Then again, she'd never been placed in such a precarious predicament. Part of her wanted to resume digging in the dungeon to recover the rest of the chain mail—and whatever else lurked beneath the hard-packed dirt. Then again, she was hired as a GAR

employee to complete the excavation of the remains and hoard—of which Kirk, being the owner/investor of GAR, expected her to bring whatever weapons she unearthed with her when they met for dinner later in the week.

She supposed her priority should be the cutaway. Crossing the great hall at a trot, she missed the massive form leaning against the wall as she made for the door.

"A fine morn it has turned out to be, aye?"

With a squeal, she jerked to a stop. "Tristan, you scared me."

The grin he pasted to his face had the capability to curl the stockings off a nun. "I vow I did not mean to." He crossed his arms over his mailed chest. "Did you rest after last night's encounter with the mysterious voice? I must say, it concerns me to know you've encountered a spirit other than one of us."

First Jason, now Tristan. Never had she had so many concerned for her well-being. "I did sleep some, although my first thought was to jump up and check out your shield again." She smiled and answered before he asked. "No, I didn't recognize anything. But it'll come to me. I feel it. The eye of Dragonhawk."

It didn't seem as odd as before, Tristan walking beside her across the bailey to the cutaway. Yes, he was dressed in thirteenth-century chain mail and hose. But with each passing day, maybe it got a little easier to handle. Jameson certainly had no trouble, and neither did his ancestors before him.

And, from what Jameson said, his son Thomas would take over one day. Then again, the Jameson family had been exposed to the fantastic situation for centuries.

"Lady? Where do your thoughts wander to? I wonder oft how you manage to keep your wits about you."

With a slight grin, she lifted a shoulder. "It's called multitasking."

"Ah, I see. You truly fascinate me."

The blush reached her ears in a matter of seconds. They were on fire. She didn't know how to react to him. Her natural instinct, as a female, felt so overwhelming.

Even as a ghost, Tristan had an abundance of magnetism. But the more she thought about the situation, the more it scared her. What if she really,
really
fell for this guy? This very handsome, very
dead
guy? God, what a disaster.

Reaching the cutaway, she flipped the lid on the large, plastic container holding her tools and busied herself. She didn't even flinch when Tristan spoke from behind.

"Lady, I—"

"Tristan, look." Andi turned to meet his gaze. "You've hired me to do a job, and you're making it very difficult for me to complete it in the short time that's allowed."

She didn't want him to leave her alone. She more than liked being around him; had found herself time and time again seeking his whereabouts. Even Jameson had advised her to speak to Tristan about her feelings. Being an enormous chicken had forced her to keep silent—at least that's what she told herself. She wiped her palms on her jeans and gathered her trowel. She looked down at her hands; they shook. Everyone in her life, save Kirk, had abandoned her. Facing another hurt didn't seem appealing, and she just didn't want to deal with it. She hated being a coward, but she had no choice.

Tristan stared at the lovely woman standing so rigid and stiff before him. He watched her slender hands, pale and elegant, tremble as she attempted to gather her digging tools. What could he say?

He did not want her to leave. Swearing always gave him some form of comfort. Mayhap he'd try it.

"Merde." He began to pace, gathering up what pitiful strength he possessed to speak his feeble mind. "Is that what you truly wish of me, Andrea?" He walked in front of where she stood and stared. "To leave you to your work?"

She met his gaze. "What are you saying?"

"Lady." He prayed with a fervor his pitiful voice didn't crack. " 'Tis a most—unusual—situation, I know. One I did not count on." He took another step closer. Barely a foot of space separated them.

He ducked his head to catch her gaze. "I did not count on you, Andrea."

She shook her head, unable to believe his words. "I don't understand."

Tristan's stomach lurched. Saints, what if she bid him leave her? After seven hundred years he had found someone to care for. He'd never met a woman like her before, in life or unlife. He squeezed his eyes shut briefly, then gained a bit more courage and drew a deep breath. His hands clenched at his sides to keep from attempting something ridiculous, such as lifting her face to his.

"You intrigue me, Andrea. I find myself seeking you out at all times during the waking hours, and I pace endlessly during the night whilst you sleep, counting the minutes until you rise." He turned his back and looked up. " 'Tis a pitiful state I'm in, aye?"

The breath escaping her lungs barely reached his ears. "Nearly as pitiful as me, I guess."

Tristan smiled and slowly turned around to face her. "I—guess—as you say." He took a small step closer. He did not want to go too fast with his lady. "I think your digging could be put off for a while." He flashed her a grin. "If you can stand my constant company."

Andi's smile faded. "I'm sorry, I can't. Not today, anyway." She nodded toward the hoard. "I promised Kirk I'd excavate the weapons by the end of the week. He is anxious to inspect them."

Tristan frowned. "I didn't know he was coming here for dinner."

"He's not. I'm meeting him. In town."

Now, why did that sit so ill with him? "I see." He shifted his weight. "How old is this ... Kirk?"

Andi grinned. "Over fifty."

Somehow, that didn't appease him enough.

Resting his hand on the hilt of his sword, Tristan nodded. "Very well. I suppose I can entertain myself for one eve without you."

"Sure you can."

"Saucy wench."

Andi laughed. "I do have to run what samples I have to the coroner's office in Northumberland this evening."

"I see."

She narrowed her eyes at him, then smiled. "I won't be out late. I plan on coming back and doing a bit more excavating in your dungeon." She shook her head. "I still have the rest of the mail to recover."

A smile tugged at his mouth. What a determined lass. And by the saints, he hadn't made the expression as much over the last few centuries. Until now. "Then I shall look forward to your return."

With the toe of her shoe, she pushed a small rock back and forth. "I've a lot of work to do today.

Tedious, bone brushing, recovery. You could ... hang around and tell me knightly tales. So I don't get bored here all by myself."

Stupid had never been a word used to describe any de Barre.
Never.

Although he certainly had to wonder about the wisdom of embarking on this course with Andrea.

Somehow, even the knowing of what could lie ahead didn't stop him.

"Aye, my lady. I wouldn't miss the chance."