She was silent for several moments, long enough for him to catch his breath and regain his balance. His vision cleared just in time to see her ex-pression of hurt change to one of anger. He hardly had time to unravel the mystery of that change when he was a.s.saulted by a barrage of words.

"Oh, great!" she exclaimed, scrambling to her feet. "This is just great! You don't want me either!" She started to pace in front of him. "First it's my boss who gives me the old heave-ho, though I hated that job and his stupid cactus plants anyway. Then my landlord wants me out. Peter Pan takes a hike because I can't pay for his upkeep anymore. h.e.l.l's bells, not even the Social Security office wants anything to do with me! Just what's wrong with me, anyway?" She stopped, looked at him with another ac-cusing glance, then poked him sharply in the chest. "You tell me that, Mr. I-just-barely-escaped-the-Inquisition knight from Spendingthorn."

43 "Speningethorpe."

"Whatever," she snarled.

"Ah . . . " he began.

"Never mind," she said, her eyes blazing. "I don't want you either. Your house is a mess. You don't even have a job. I'm not going to work my fingers to the bone to feed and clothe another boyfriend. Forget it. I'm finding my cat," she said, sticking her nose up in the air, "and going" She turned away from him smartly. "Sir Sweetums, get over here right now!"

Miles watched with open mouth as she stomped from his kitchen. And, much as he hated to admit it, he hadn't understood a thing she'd said. Except for the part about the Inquisition.

Oh, and that she thought he didn't want her.

Which had to mean, and he congratulated himself on the ability to deduce this, that she wanted him.

And while he was indulging in realizations, he realized that while she might have only come to want him recently, he'd wanted her from the moment he'd clapped eyes on her formerly fluffy self standing at his gates. Harpy or no, he had very much wanted to understand all there was to un-derstand about Abigail Moira Garrett. He wanted it even more now. And if it meant keeping her in the glorious Year of Our Lord 1238, then so be it.

He stepped out into the great hall and watched as she hitched up her hose and stomped across the great hall, hollering for her b.l.o.o.d.y cat. What an enchanting woman. h.e.l.l, he didn't care if she was an enchanted woman. He wanted her.

And Miles de Piaget always got what he wanted.

He would invite her to stay. Indeed, he would all but demand that she stay.

He strode forward. It took four long strides to catch up to her, an-other to position himself properly, and half another to sweep her squeak-ing self up into his arms. He looked down into her beautiful face and gave her his most lordly look. He knew it wasn't as convincing as his sire's, but since Abigail had nothing to compare it to, it would do.

"The future will just have to go on without you," he announced.

She blinked. "I beg your pardon."

44 .

"Petered pain is something you'll not have to bear again."

"Petered pain?"

"Aye," he said, firmly.

"Oh," she whispered. Then she smiled, a gentle smile. "You mean Pe-ter Pan."

"Whatever," he said, with an imperious look. "And that so-shall sec ... sec-"

"Social Security," she supplied.

"Aye, that. You'll have no need of it. Whatever it is," he added. "You will have me."

"I will?"

"Whether you like it or no."

"I see."

He grunted. "So you do."

He stalked back to the fire. Abigail's arms stole around his neck and it broke his heart. How could she think no one wanted her?

He set her down on her feet near the fire, put his hand under her chin, and lifted her face up.

"I a.s.sume this agrees with you," he stated.

She looked up at him solemnly. "I didn't think you were giving me any choice in the matter."

"I'm not. I intend to woo you fiercely. I am merely a.s.suming the idea agrees with you."

A small smile touched her mouth. "I suppose the future isn't all it's cracked up to be."

"Especially when the glorious Year of Our Lord 1238 provides one with such exceeding luxuries," he said, indicating his pitiful hall with a grand sweep of his arm.

"Well . . . now that you mention it-"

He didn't wish to hear what she intended to mention, so, like the good soldier he was, he marched straight into the fray without hesitation. He lowered his head and covered her mouth with his.

She shivered.

45 And then she kissed him back.

Miles s senses reeled. He gathered Abigail close and wrapped his arms around her. He smiled to himself as he remembered his first sight of her and how plump a harpy she had seemed. She was definitely not fluffy now. He could work on that later. Visions of half a dozen little Abigail-like creatures scampering about his hall calling "here, kitty, kitty," sprang up in his mind. He lifted his head and blinked.

"Miles, I think-"

He captured her mouth again. Thinking was not something he wanted to do much more of for the moment. Later he would give thought into little dark-haired, gray-eyed waifs and their mother running roughshod over his hall and his heart. For now, he was far too lost in Abigail's arms.

Miles could hardly believe the events of the past several hours. He'd come to Speningethorpe a se'nnight before, determined to wither away to an intolerable, bitter old man. Without warning, Abigail had come splashing down into his moat and changed his life completely. Perhaps there was more to Sir Sweetums than met the eye.

Whatever the case, Miles knew he had made the right choice. Perhaps the sailing would be a bit rough at first, what with them both coming from different worlds. Already her cat had done damage to his nose. The saints only knew what wreckage Abigail would leave of his heart. But surely it would be worth the effort.

The smell of something burning finally caught his attention. And that warmth on his backside he had thought to be Abigail's hand had sud-denly turned into something else entirely.

"Merde!" he shouted. : "Drop and roll!" Abigail said, shoving him. "Drop and roll, you idiot!"

He dropped and she rolled him. He soon found himself face down on the floor. There was a fine draft blowing over his backside.

"The fire got your tights, too, I'm afraid," Abigail said. "What a shame. Your b.u.m is looking kind of red-"

Miles whipped over so he was sitting, bare-a.r.s.ed, on the floor. He felt furious color suffuse his cheeks. Abigail laughed.

46 .

"Oh, Miles," she said, shaking her head.

He grunted and scowled to save his pride. Abigail leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

"You're very cute."

Well, he knew that was a compliment. A pity he'd had to scorch his a.r.s.e to wring one from her! To soothe his burned backside and a.s.suage his bruised ego, he hauled her into his lap and looked at her purposefully.

"I will need to be appeased," he announced.

She put her arms around his neck. "And just how is that done in 1238?"

"I will show you."

"I had the feeling you would."

Miles kissed her. In time he forgot the pain of his toasted backside. He forgot that, by the saints, he was some seven hundred years older than the woman in his arms. He was almost distracted enough to bypa.s.s giving thought to what he would tell his father about her when he took her to Artane.

"Hey," Abigail said, looking at him with a frown, "keep your mind on the task at hand. Really, Miles. It can't be that taxing."

He threw back his head and laughed. Perhaps this was truly the gift he'd needed most for Christmas-a woman who had no reason to tread lightly near him. He looked at Abigail and smiled.

"My lady, you amaze me."

"Of course I do. What other twentieth-century girls have you met lately?"

He smiled and kissed her again. She was certainly the only one, the saints be praised. He doubted he would survive the wooing of another.

His nose began to twitch, but he stuck his finger under it and kept his mouth pressed tightly against Abigail's. With any luck that blasted cat would keep his distance until Abigail was properly wooed.

And if Miles ever caught up with Sir Sweetums, he would offer him a cup of the finest meade in grat.i.tude.

Chapter Five.

ABBY SAT CROSS-LEGGED on the table in the kitchen and watched Miles cut up vegetables for a stew.

"Do you know what you're doing?" she asked, doubtfully.

He looked up from under his eyebrows. "I cooked many a meal for myself in my travels. We will not starve."

"But how well will we eat?"

Miles very carefully set the knife down, crossed the two steps that separated her resting place from his working area of the table, and stopped in front of her.

"Oh, no you don't-"

She wasn't fast enough. She didn't even get a chance to give him her kissing-won't-solve-all-our-problems speech before a very warm, very firm mouth came down on hers. She shivered. It was a mouth minus its previous surrounding accompaniment of whiskers. Miles had shaved once he'd learned modern guys did it every day. Abby had vowed solemnly to herself not to overuse that keep-up-with-the-twentieth-century-Joneses strategy too often. But it was worth it for this. Kissing a bewhiskered Miles was great, but this was earth-shattering.

And he'd dispensed early on with that closed-mouthed kissing busi-ness. He was going straight for the jugular and didn't seem to care which way he got there, inside her mouth or out. Abby thought he might be wishing he could just crawl inside her and this was the best he could get

47.

48 .

for the moment. She hadn't given him her Garretts-don't-do-it-before-marriage speech, but they hadn't gotten that far yet. She sincerely hoped they got that far eventually.

Abby blinked when Miles lifted his head.

"Finished?" she croaked.

"Do you doubt my skill in the kitchens?"

She shook her head, wide-eyed.

He smiled in the most self-satisfied of ways and returned to his chop-ping. Abby rubbed her finger thoughtfully over her bottom lip. Maybe kissing would solve quite a few things.

Abby looked at Miles chopping diligently. Just how had she gotten so lucky? She had been rescued by a fantastic-looking man who got so dis-tracted by kissing her that he set his own clothes on fire. He was stacking up oh-so-nicely against her Ideal Man list. It was almost enough to make her forget about going home.

Home. She turned the thought over in her mind. Modern conveniences waltzed before her mind's eye and she examined each in turn. Somehow they just didn't seem that appealing. Phones were noisy, fast food was unhealthy, and life in the corporate world spent basking under fluorescent lights gave her headaches. She'd always liked camping, which was a good thing, since Miles's castle was about on that same level of civilization.

And there probably wasn't any use in thinking about it. She had no guarantee that diving into Miles's moat would leave her resurfacing in Murphy's Pond.

On the other hand, what future did she have in the past? Miles cer-tainly hadn't mentioned marriage. He was definitely shaping up to be someone she could share her life with, but was he free to choose his wife? Her knowledge of the marital practices of medieval n.o.bility was scant, unfortunately. Even if could choose, who was to say he'd want her?

"Where go you?"

Abby hadn't realized she had gotten off the table until Miles spoke.

"Just out," she said, moving toward the kitchen door. Maybe a little distance would soothe her smarting feelings. She was losing it. Why in the world did she think- 49 "You sound as if you need to be convinced to stay," he stated, snag-ging her hand. "Come you back here, my lady, and let me see to it."

Abby let him pull her back, turn her around, and gather her into his arms.