One Magic Moment(3)
Author: Lynn Kurland

 

Never mind that Pippa also had a knight with spurs on his heels to keep her safe in that castle and that the only thing running in her sister’s castle was men away from her husband’s very sharp sword. It was tempting to stand on the edge of that great hall and wonder if Pippa might be at that very moment standing on that very spot eight hundred years in the past—

 

But she refrained because the thought was just too ridiculous to take seriously. People didn’t travel through time, sisters didn’t fall in love with men who were centuries older than they were, and England was not full of paranormal happenings she couldn’t explain.

 

She studiously ignored the fact that she’d seen ghosts in her hall—particularly a red-haired, bekilted Scotsman who seemed to be most often found lingering near the little room near the gatehouse she used as a prop room for those who wanted to take the experience of walking around her castle to new and dangerous levels of authenticity—or that she had, with her own eyes, seen more paranormal activity of other kinds than any Kansasborn Yank should ever have had to be witness to.

 

Like Fate and Karma currently standing with their arms linked there near a fire that some enterprising soul had apparently started earlier that morning, watching her to see what she would do.

 

Ignore them, that’s what she would do, because she wasn’t going to think any more about her sister, or ghosts, or time travel. And if her walk across the hall was more of a run and her sudden enthusiasm for whatever nastiness Peaches could pour into a glass was unusual, who could blame her?

 

The truth was, she hadn’t intended to let the events of the past few weeks get to her as they had. She had sent Pippa off into the unknown and apparently unrestrainable ether one morning five weeks earlier, then returned to her castle in the south, sure in the knowledge that her sister was happily wed to the man she loved. She’d been convinced that her pleasure in her sister’s happiness would be enough to override any small twinge of sadness she felt over having lost the company of that beloved younger sister. She’d had no trouble putting on a happy face long enough to put her other sister Peaches on a plane back to Seattle and sing jaunty medieval tunes on her way back to her keep.

 

That had lasted only until she’d walked in her front door and promptly fallen apart.

 

She’d done the only thing she could: she’d fled to Cambridge, lucking into a gig house-sitting for a colleague on sabbatical who’d had his house sitter flake out on him. It should have continued at least through the middle of December, but the man’s sister had shown up and announced she was taking over, leaving Tess with the choice of either bumming couch space off friends or returning to Sedgwick.

 

Well, actually, the decision had been a bit more clear-cut than that. Her series of autumn events was heading into full swing, and she’d needed to be home to see to them. Could she be blamed if she’d put off getting on the train until the very last moment possible, giving herself time to convince herself that she could actually go inside her hall and breathe?

 

She thought not.

 

She set her backpack on a chair in front of the hearth and dug inside for her wallet. She needed to get out; that was the ticket. She could go someplace less, ah, old, like Knole House, or maybe even just down to the local pub. That was a lovely seventeenth-century building full of dark wood and even more modern amenities like bangers and mash. Yes, something more on the current side was just what she needed—

 

“Hey, where are you going?” Peaches called from the top of the passageway that led to the kitchen. “I haven’t gotten to your juice yet.”

 

“I’ll drink it later,” Tess said, shoving her wallet into her jacket pocket. “I’m going out.”

 

Peaches was silent in such a meaningful sort of way that Tess found she had to stop in mid-flight and turn to look at her. She took a deep breath and attempted a smile.

 

“I just need a few minutes in a more modern place. But save me some juice.”

 

Peaches only watched her, her expression one of understanding.

 

Tess nodded, then turned and fled out the front door before she opened her mouth and a terrible noise of grief came out. So Pippa had gotten married and moved a bit out of cell phone range. Lots of people did that and their families survived. Tess was sure she’d be counting herself in that latter group very soon.

 

Within minutes, she was backing out of what served as the castle’s car park, happy to be doing something constructive with her time. She drove along the small road leading away from her castle, slowed down, considered, then swerved expertly and sideswiped an ancient and fortunately quite sturdy oak. She stopped, hopped out of the car and went to look for the mirror she’d knocked off.

 

It had fallen more or less where they usually fell, which saved her the time she would have otherwise spent looking for it. She tossed the latest victim into the pile of mirrors languishing behind the tree, then got back in her car and started off again. The village was small, and any business she could provide for it, she went out of her way to see to. She’d been knocking off side mirrors for almost a year, because it gave her an excuse to go to town, and it gave Grant, the owner of the local garage, something to fix. He’d been the first local to be pleasant to her as the new owner of the hall up the way, and she’d shown her gratitude as she could.

 

But he wasn’t there any longer. He’d sold his shop at the end of the summer so he could retire to France. Tess imagined that the new owner, no doubt as dour and crusty as Grant had been, would welcome a friendly hand extended. Giving him a little business was the least she could do. It might take her mind off the things she wasn’t allowing to bother her.

 

She turned onto the main road and started toward the village. She had been in England for several years, so the vagaries of driving on the left had long since ceased to be anything she even thought about. Narrow roads didn’t bother her, nor did passing trucks that took up more space than they should have.

 

Of course, trying to pass trucks with expensive black sports cars keeping a safe following distance of approximately six inches from her back bumper was a novelty, but she was nothing if not flexible.

 

She passed the lorry, fully expecting the black car to speed past her after she did so. He didn’t. He merely swung in behind her as if his front bumper had been magnetically attracted to the back of hers. What was it about guys in sports cars? She suspected the bill of sale came with detailed instructions on how to tail little runabouts to intimidate and unnerve their innocent drivers. Tess was tempted to slam on the brakes to get him to back off, but she had money in her budget for side mirrors, not rear-end restorations.

 

She finally had had enough. She rolled down her window and motioned politely for the gentleman to pass her. Could she be blamed if she’d felt compelled to use an extended middle finger to do the like?