The Gift Of Christmas Past Part 3

"Oh, you are cute," she said, feeling a little breathless.

"I take that to mean you find me tolerable to look at."

"Who, you? Of course not. I was just talking about your dimple. The rest of you isn't even pa.s.sable."

He laughed. "Disrespectful wench. You've no idea whom you're in-sulting."

"At least I gave you credit for one decent feature," she grumbled. She started to move off him, then got a good look at his floor. "Geez, Miles, what's the deal with your living room here? Are you planning on bring-ing barnyard animals inside anytime soon?"

He sighed. "I know the rushes need changing."

"Yeech," she said, climbing gingerly onto the bed. It was then she re-alized that she'd slept on a bed while he'd slept on a blanket on the floor. On the rotting hay, rather. She frowned at him. "Why didn't you just go sleep in another bed?"

"There is no other bed."

"Well," she said, slowly, "I appreciate the gallant gesture, but you wouldn't have had to make it if you didn't run such a lousy hotel. You know, inn," she clarified at his blank look.

He shook his head, with a small smile. "This is no inn, my lady."

"Spend-whatever. If that isn't a name for an inn, I don't know what is."

"Speningethorpe. 'Tis the name of my hall. I know 'tisn't much, but it gave me peace and quiet."

"Until last night."

He shrugged. "Perhaps too much peace and quiet isn't a good thing."

"All right," she said, crossing her legs underneath herself, "if you don't run an inn, what do you do? Is it just you here?" At that moment a surprisingly distressing thought occurred to her. "Are you married?" she

26 .

demanded. She looked around. "Is there a wife hiding in here somewhere? This is all I need-"

A large hand came to rest over her mouth. Miles sat up, then took his hand away.

"Nay, no wife. Women do not like me."

"Really?" she asked, looking at him and finding that very hard to be-lieve. "Good grief, is everyone blind here in backwoods England?" She clapped her own hand over her mouth when she realized what she'd said. "I meant-"

He was grinning. "I know what you meant, Abigail. And I thank you for the compliment. But even though I am a knight with land of my own, women don't care overmuch for my past accomplishments."

"And just what would those be?" Great. Out of all the places she could have resurfaced, she'd resurfaced in the moat of someone with ques-tionable past accomplishments.

But at least he had accomplishments. And what was this business about being a knight? Maybe that was why he carried a sword. Abby looked at him thoughtfully. It couldn't hurt to reserve judgment until she found out more about him. She realized that she was already stacking him up against her Ideal Man list, but she could hardly help herself. After all, he had given her the only bed in his house. He was easily the most ap-pealing man she had seen in years. He liked her hair. He had a great accent. He wasn't much of a housekeeper, but that could be fixed. The first thing to do was move the barn-like accoutrements outside- "-burn me at the stake-"

"Huh?" she exclaimed, turning back in. "Run that one by me again."

He looked at her with a frown. "Haven't you been listening?"

"No. I've been cataloging your good points. I don't think this is one of them."

He shook his head with a slow smile. "I was telling you that I'd just recently escaped being burned at the stake. For heresy."

"For what?"

"Heresy-which was a lie, of course. I had simply made the grave er-ror of expressing my views on the Crusades," Miles said. "I was traveling 27 through France this past fall, having just returned from the Holy Land, where I saw and heard tell of ruthless slaughter. To be sure, I could find nothing to recommend the whole Crusading affair. One night I sought shelter at an inn. I slipped well into my cups, but came back to myself a goodly while after I'd already disparaged my table companion, a man I soon learned was a former Crusader and a powerful French count."

"And what did he do to you? Threaten a lawsuit?" Trouble with the law, Abby noted. That could definitely be a mark in the negative column.

Miles smiled. "The law had nothing to do with it, my lady. He sent for his bishop, threw together an impromptu inquisition-of souls without any authority, I might add-and convicted me of both heresy and witchcraft."

"Witchcraft?" Abby eased herself back on the bed. There was no doubt about that being a red flag.

He snorted. "Aye, if you can stomach that. The count's witnesses- paid for handsomely, of course-claimed they had seen me conversing with my familiar."

"And that would be?"

"A fluffy black cat."

Abby laughed. "Oh, right. That would have been a pretty one-sided conversation, what with you sneezing your head off."

Miles smiled. "I laughed as well, at first. I sobered abruptly when I saw the wood piled high around the stake and one of the count's men standing there with a lit torch."

"Good grief," she said, "they really weren't going to do it, were they? What kind of backwater town were you in, anyway? Hadn't they ever heard of Amnesty International? Human rights activists would have been all over this."

"I daresay the count's men had heard of many things, yet they fully intended to do the man's bidding. They secured me to the post, but not without a goodly struggle on my part."

Abby was speechless. What was the world coming to? She made a mental note to avoid rural France as a travel destination.

"The count had taken the torch himself and was giving me a last fa-natical spewing forth of religious prattle when a miracle occurred."

28 .

Abby found she was clutching the edge of the bed with both hands. "What?" she breathed. "A downpour?"

Miles laughed. "'Twould have been fitting, to be sure. Nay, 'twas my grandsire, whom I had been traveling to meet. His men overcame the count's, he set me free and I fled like a kicked whelp, not even bothering to offer him a kiss of peace. Needless to say, my journeying in France was thereafter very short-lived."

"Did you tell the police about that guy? What a nutcase!"

"Police?" he echoed, stumbling over the word. "What is that?"

Abby frowned. "You know, the authorities."

"Ah," Miles said, nodding, "you mean Louis. Nay, I did not think it wise to chance a visit to court. My grandsire sent word a fortnight after I arrived home telling me that he'd seen the matter settled." Miles said pleasantly. "The sly old fox has something of a reputation. I daresay he ap-plied the sword liberally, as well as informing the king of what went on."

"Sword?" Well, Miles seemed to have one handy. Maybe his entire family had a thing about metal. "And what do you mean he informed the king?" she asked. "What king?"

"Louis. Louis IX, King of France."

"But France doesn't have a king," she pointed out.

"Aye, it does."

"No, it doesn't. It has a president."

"Nay, it has a king. Louis IX. A good king, as far as they go."

Abby scrambled to her feet, careful to keep them on blanket-covered floor. As an afterthought, she made a grab for her tights to keep them from falling to her knees.

"France does not have a king," she insisted.

Miles jumped to his feet just as quickly.

"How can you not know of King Louis?" he asked.

"What is he, some fringe guy trying to overthrow the government?"

"He's the b.l.o.o.d.y king of that whole realm!" Miles exclaimed. He looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. "Next you will tell me that you know nothing of Henry."

29 "Henry who?"

"Henry III, King of England!"

"No, no, no," she said, shaking her head. "Henry isn't king. There's little prince Harry, but he's just the spare heir. Elizabeth is queen."

"Elizabeth? Who is Elizabeth?"

He was starting to sound as exasperated as she felt.

"All right," she said, taking a deep breath. "Let's start from the be-ginning. And can we go sit by the fire? I'm cold."

"Gladly," Miles said. He shoved his feet into boots, then clomped over to the pile of logs in the middle of the room and built up the fire.

Abby tiptoed gingerly into the kitchen and put on her Keds. They weren't as dry as they could have been, but it beat the heck out of wearing more of Miles's floor on the bottoms of her tights than she was already. She squished her way over to the fire to face her scowling host.

Miles folded his arms across his chest. "Let us see if we cannot untan-gle this snarl inside your head."

"My head?" she said. "I'm not the one who's confused."

"Aye, but you are!"

"I am not! France does not have a king, and neither does England. En-gland has a queen and her name is Elizabeth!"

"It has a king and his name is Henry!"

Abby smirked. "I'd say let's turn on the TV and see what the local newscaster says, but I'll bet you don't have a TV either, do you?"

"Nay, I do not," he said, stiffly. "Nor would I have one."

"Ha," she said. "You don't even know what a TV is."

He scowled fiercely. "Aye, I do."

"Do not."

"How would you know what I do and do not know?"

"You don't have any electricity, bucko. It's a dead giveaway."

He growled at her. "You are a most infuriating woman."

"Really?" she said, surprised. She smiled suddenly. "How nice. I've always wanted to be infuriating. It looks like the Garrett blood is really coming out. My grandmother would be so proud."

30 .

"I think I'd like to wring it all from you, for 'tis most-ha . . . ha ... hachoo!"

Abby barely stepped aside in time to avoid the product of his violent sneeze. She grabbed his arm.

"Hush," she whispered, frantically. "Sir Sweetums has to be nearby."

Miles panted through his mouth. "Sir Sweetubs? What kind of a nabe is that for a b.l.o.o.d.y cat?"

"It's a term of endearment. Like this: sweetie pie, honey bunch, snook.u.ms." She tickled him under the chin for effect. "See?"

Miles scowled. "I see noth-ha . . . ha-"

Abby put her finger under his nose to plug it. "Don't even think about it, toots. We've got a kitty to find. Don't make any sudden moves."

She kept her finger under his nose as they turned slowly in a circle.

"See anything?" she whispered.

"Nay."

"Keep looking."

They turned another circle and Miles froze suddenly. "There," he said, softly.

Sir Sweetums was sitting next to the hall door.

"Perhaps he will cobe if you call to hib," Miles said, breathing through his mouth. He was obviously fighting his sneeze.