One Magic Moment(33)
Author: Lynn Kurland

 

There were just some people who had known each other too long and dressed in tights once too often.

 

She supposed she might save all the ladies in the hall the necessity of keeping a few randy lads at bay if she saw to the refilling of that punch bowl. She pushed away from the tapestry she’d been gingerly leaning against and walked into the passageway leading to the kitchen only to feel someone take her hand and spin her around.

 

Her first thought was that it was John, but he wouldn’t have manhandled her that way. She found herself abruptly backed up against the wall by a too-buff, sword-bearing blond man who had, unfortunately, not had too much to drink. He pinned her to the wall with his hands against her shoulders.

 

“You,” he said distinctly, “are a very beautiful woman.”

 

“And you,” she said, just as distinctly, “are going to be without the use of your testicles if you don’t take your hands off me immediately.”

 

He grinned. “I like my women feisty.”

 

“And I like my men chivalrous,” she said shortly, “and you don’t qualify.”

 

“Give me a chance,” he said, bending his head toward hers.

 

Tess tried to knee him in the groin, but he was, unfortunately, as practiced in the art of groping unwilling women as he was stupid.

 

Briefly.

 

She found him picked off her like a repugnant tick and held in the middle of the passageway by a fist grasping the back of his tunic.

 

“I say,” a voice said with the utmost politeness, “I believe the lady said she wasn’t interested.”

 

Her would-be attacker squirmed and swore until he got a good look at who was holding him. Then he stopped, probably because the expression on John de Piaget’s face was not nearly as friendly as his words had been. Tess felt a little faint, and she was the one being rescued.

 

“Just a friendly little embrace,” the blond reenactment member squeaked.

 

“Well then, friend,” John said coolly, “let me help you understand something that I’m sure will be of great benefit to you in your future embraces. When the lady in question threatens to geld you, it means she isn’t interested. At that point, a gentleman apologizes, withdraws, and looks inward to discover what it is about himself that women find so repugnant. You, I believe, have many hours of such reflection to look forward to.”

 

“Now, wait a minute—”

 

John released him and merely folded his arms over his chest, obviously content to wait for his opponent to make the first move.

 

Blondie blustered a bit, apparently thought twice, then quickly slunk off back to the great hall. Tess let out a shuddering breath.

 

“Thank you.”

 

John turned a frown on her. “Are you hurt?”

 

She shook her head. “A little rumpled, but otherwise unharmed.” She took a deep breath and looked at him. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”

 

He pursed his lips. “Wednesday was too far away.”

 

“And yet you don’t sound particularly happy to see me.”

 

He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “It isn’t that. I’m simply wrestling with my desire to go beat the bloody hell out of that lad for manhandling you.”

 

“I would suggest a refreshing glass of punch, but I think it’s the problem.”

 

He lifted an eyebrow. “I would say your friend had already sampled more of it than was polite, but I don’t think he’d been drinking.”

 

“Too much time in tights.”

 

“I didn’t want to say as much, but you might have it aright.” He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then dropped his arm quickly, as if he’d just realized what he was doing and regretted it. “Perhaps we should go police the punch bowl. Unless you’d rather dance.”

 

“Can you dance?”

 

“It comes along as part of the lute playing.” He nodded toward the hall. “Let’s see if it will serve as a decent distraction for the both of us and save your would-be suitor my fist in his gut.”

 

She didn’t protest when he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, just as she’d seen Montgomery do a dozen times with her sister.

 

A devastating realization, actually.

 

She tried to concentrate on other things. She stole a look at John from out of the corner of her eye, grateful somehow that he wasn’t wearing a sword or she might have mistaken him for someone else of a medieval vintage. She would have closed her eyes in self-defense, but she might have missed the view and that would have been a darned shame.

 

He was probably six foot three, maybe a bit taller, and somehow that height added to those broad shoulders added to long legs added to protectiveness he just couldn’t seem to get past all combined to make her feet absolutely delicate when she was anywhere near him. She didn’t consider herself particularly fragile, but she had to admit that there was something rather lovely about standing next to a man who made her feel that way.

 

“Oh, Miss Alexander!”

 

Tess sighed and turned to look at one of the catering staff who was running after her. “Yes, Karen?”

 

“You’re needed,” the girl said, looking at John with undisguised admiration. “Briefly.”

 

John put his hand over hers. “I’ll go guard the punch bowl.”

 

She nodded and forced herself not to watch him walk away. She followed Karen back to the kitchen, solved a problem that didn’t need her approval, then walked back up the way to the hall, hoping she wouldn’t emerge to find it in a shambles.

 

Fortunately, it was simply full of dancers. She didn’t see John immediately, which sent a little thrill of unease through her. She realized, however, that he was still there as she walked out into the middle of her hall, then turned to look at one of the hearths.

 

He was waiting for her, visible now and again when the sea of dancers parted.

 

She could hardly catch her breath. She’d watched her sister Pippa find herself facing Montgomery in exactly the same way, in the midst of a party of medieval reenactment aficionados—and watched the look on her sister’s face.

 

The thought of it about did her in.

 

“Tess? Shall we dance?”

 

She took a deep breath, nodded, then put her hand in his and walked with him into the fray. She would have asked him, after a few minutes, what he thought of not only the music but the steps, but she was too distracted by the calluses on his right hand. Maybe they came from working on cars. Maybe they came from working with a sword.