One Magic Moment(43)
Author: Lynn Kurland
“Are you bringing your lute to play for me after the guests leave?”
He laughed a little in spite of himself. “You, Tess Alexander, are a difficult woman.”
She reached out and tucked a bit of his hair behind his ear, then pulled her hand away quickly, as if she thought she shouldn’t have. He caught that hand before it escaped too far, then kissed it before he released it.
“Aye, I will,” he said easily. “If you insist.”
“Very generous of you.”
“It is, isn’t it?” he agreed.
“You could play just for me while I stir, I suppose,” she said thoughtfully, “but then you might draw all the guests kitchenward.”
“And then I would be forced to share you with them more than I like,” he agreed. “Let me get you home, then I’ll run and fetch my gear. I’ll see what instrument comes first to hand.”
“And tights as well?”
He shot her a look. “Jeans, you hussy.”
She smiled and buckled herself in. He supposed she was wise to do so. He didn’t like the fact that someone had stolen her purse, no matter what it had contained. Perhaps she deserved nothing less for having been distracted enough to leave it behind, but that fact that it had been hers and he had felt someone watching them . . .
He shook his head and concentrated on getting them back to Sedgwick in one piece. Perhaps it was coincidence. Perhaps he had simply spent too many years listening for the crack of a twig or the glimpse of a shadow that might contain an enemy. The morning’s events were nothing more than coincidence.
Surely.
Two hours later, he was standing in his bedchamber, looking into his closet, and feeling as if he’d been kicked in the gut by an enthusiastic stallion. In fact, he had to lean over with his hands on his thighs to catch his breath.
His sword was gone.
And there had been no sign of a break-in.
Coincidence? He seriously doubted it. He straightened and went to look about the cottage once more, on the off chance that he’d missed something. He checked both doors and every window—including the one over his bed that wasn’t quite shut.
Which was not at all how he’d left it.
He looked on the bedspread and saw faint indentations, but nothing that he could have used to tell him anything except that his thief had rather large feet. He didn’t even consider calling the bobbies. They would have wanted all sorts of details he wouldn’t have wanted to give, beginning and ending with why he had a trio of swords propped up in the back of his closet.
Well, a brace of them only, now.
He stood in the midst of his bedchamber and folded his arms over his chest so he could scowl and think a bit. Nothing else was missing; he knew that from a cursory glance around. It wasn’t that he had anything of value save his cars, and he’d had the priciest with him, leaving the others still safely tucked in their bays. The tools in his shop were worth something, but he wouldn’t know if something were missing there without a serious search.
He considered, then walked into his closet, pulled aside the false front he’d built into the back and opened the man-sized safe he had there. His lute and two guitars were inside, untouched. He considered, then took his remaining medieval sword and stashed it inside. The fit was tight, which was why he’d never kept it in the safe, though now he wondered why not.
The Claymore was too tall to fit, so he supposed he had no choice but to simply take his chances with it. It was a reproduction, so the thought of losing it didn’t trouble him overmuch. The realization that he’d been robbed of the sword his father had given him upon the occasion of his knighting, however, was substantially more gut-wrenching than he would have suspected it might be.
His father had given him his other sword as well, so perhaps he was being overly sentimental where he shouldn’t have been. It was metal, nothing more, and the gems were useless to anyone who might have wanted to sell them. They were faceted with the tools of a medieval gemsmith. To recut them to modern standards would have radically diminished their value.
Nay, the worth to him was in the memories attached to the sword. He’d cherished the blade, even though his father had gifted it to him a year to the day before he’d thrown him out of his hall—
He wrenched his thoughts back to the present, which wasn’t, as it happened, much more of a pleasant place to be than loitering uncomfortably in memories of his past.
Who would want a sword?
More curious still, why would anyone have thought he might possess one?
The only person who had seen him with a sword in his hands was Doris Winston, and he immediately dismissed her as a suspect. Even the lad who had accosted Tess might have fancied a more authentic-looking blade, but he wouldn’t have known to look for it in a closet. If that fool had been bent on revenge, he would have likely trashed the entire cottage.
Nay, there was something else afoot.
He shut and locked his window again only to discover that the lock was broken. He cursed succinctly, then went and fetched a small crowbar from the shop. He wedged the window shut, hoping he wouldn’t soon have a fire and need to escape. He collected his preferred guitar for classical pieces, then locked up the safe and replaced the false front. After a final look about his house, he locked the door behind him and walked away. The Claymore would either be there when he returned, or it wouldn’t.
He thought that perhaps he should have taken Grant’s suggestion to hook up the surveillance cameras. Too late now.
He wondered if Tess had them in her hall and if not, would she think him daft for suggesting she have them installed first thing Monday morning.
He drove to Sedgwick with less apprehension about the keep and what it represented than great unease over what he might be drawing to it with his presence. He could only assume that whoever had nicked his sword was lying in wait for him, not Tess.
Though the loss of her purse couldn’t be discounted.
He sighed, parked well away from potential door damage, then fetched his guitar and made his way across the bridge and into the courtyard. He didn’t bother with the front door, though he did take the opportunity to look rather thoroughly about the courtyard for anything untoward. He saw nothing, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t have another look later.
He walked into the kitchen to find Tess and Peaches up to their elbows in supper.