Page 54

14

Hannah closed the door behind Joan and turned back toward her bedchamber. She’d asked for a fire even though it was high summer. Summers in Maine could be cool, but a constant chill lingered in the castle—one of many things Hannah struggled to adjust to.

The list was extensive.

And yet . . . these past few days she had settled into more of a routine than she’d thought possible. Kenton, who’d inadvertently reminded her of how out of place she was in the fourteenth century, had reminded her of all the reasons why she could never stay here. Despite . . . well . . . him.

But she’d decided to make herself useful for the rest of her time in Saxford, and since Tristan had been closeted away with Kenton and his marshal, she’d decided to start with the next most important person in the household.

Cook, known by no other name, was everything she’d expected. Burly, gruff, and completely uninterested in her meddling, he’d kicked her out of the kitchen no less than three times before she made any headway.

Eventually she wore him down the same way she would any difficult client. By being helpful. Ignoring the strange looks she attracted, she donned an apron and refused to leave the kitchen. And while Cook continued to present his unapologetic rough manners, Hannah ignored his blustering. She’d actually elicited a smile from him later that first day. And hugs from no less than two kitchen maids, who’d thanked her for “such a miracle.”

Since then she had showed him new dishes, at least ones that were possible with the ingredients at hand. Although she did not cater events herself, Hannah knew enough about them to understand how large amounts of food could be made, and served, efficiently. Cook had been much more open to her suggestions as the days wore on, and she found herself enjoying their time together.

Walking toward the hearth and reaching out her hands to warm them, Hannah sighed in contentment. It was actually kind of cozy with the fire.

She almost hated the thought of going back to the bright lamps and fluorescent lighting of her office. Her room, like the rest of the castle, was lit by the soft, warm glow of candles and wall torches, which gave it all a very . . . medieval feel.

The knock at the door couldn’t have startled her more if it had been a tractor trailer barreling through her room. She’d never been so on edge back home. Not before the accident anyway.

Assuming it was Joan, Hannah pulled the door open without hesitation. “Did you forget—”

“Oh,” she said, shocked to see Tristan filling the doorway. As many times as she’d thought of going to him, or imagined him appearing at her door, she should have been more prepared. Instead, she simply stared. Allie would certainly not call her a “paragon of politeness” if she could see her mouth agape just now. Something about him made her much more expressive, even outspoken, than normal.

When his gaze dropped to take in the white silk chemise Joan had chosen for her, Hannah’s heart thudded in her chest.

“May I come in?”

It was not a good idea. In fact, it was a terrible one. But there was no chance in hell she would say no.

“Aye.”

Hannah stepped aside and Tristan entered the room, which immediately felt half as big, and closed the door behind him.

“Nice of you to bring two,” she said, pointing to the sole goblet he held.

“Gerard had it sent to me when I missed the meal. Care to share?”

She didn’t answer and instead watched as Tristan strode to the small table against the wall.

Hannah could not help staring at Tristan’s backside as he poured the wine. The thin material of his hose did little to hide a very shapely—

She jerked her head up when Tristan cleared his throat. A younger Hannah would have been quite embarrassed to have been caught staring. Now she felt invigorated.

He handed her the wine, ever a gentleman, and Hannah took a sip, attempting to slow her racing pulse as their fingers touched. Normally she hated sweet wine, but even the sweetest of Saxford’s vintages would be considered dry by modern standards. Though different than what she was used to, it was not altogether bad.

Hannah handed the wine back to him.

“I’ve not slept during the day,” he said, his voice deep and low, “as far back as I can remember. After staying up with Kenton . . .” He stopped and took another sip of wine. “I was sorry to have missed a moment alone with you.”

When he handed back the goblet this time, Hannah took a healthier swig of it.

“He cares for you,” she said. To her mind, it was the one quality that recommended Kenton.

“But you do not care for him.”

Not usually one to be self-conscious, Hannah nevertheless found herself squirming under his gaze. She walked over to one of the two chairs in front of the fire and sat.