Part 7 (1/2)

”Abigail,” he said softly, ”what ails you?”

She put her arms around him and shook her head. ”Nothing.”

”Do you miss your home?”

”No.”

He lifted her face up. Abby met his dark gray eyes and almost wanted to cry. Why be dumped here if she couldn't have him?

”Saints, but you Garretts are a stubborn lot,” he said, smiling down at her. ”You are resisting my wooing. You leave me with no choice but to pour more energies into it. Perhaps without the distractions of supper to prepare.”

Well, wooing sounded good. Maybe it was best to just give things a few more days. After all, she might find out she really didn't like him very much.

He released her, dumped the rest of his vegetables into the pot, hung it over the fire, then turned back to her with a purposeful gleam in his eye.

”Is that all that needs to go in there?” she asked.

He shrugged and advanced.

”What if it tastes lousy?”

”You'll never notice.”

”Why not?”

”Because you'll be too distracted by my surliness if you do not give me your complete attention.”

”One of these days, Miles de Piaget, kissing me into submission isn't going to wor-”

But, oh, it was working at present. With her last coherent thought, Abby knew the day she decided she didn't like him would be the day they'd need snow tires in h.e.l.l.

AN HOUR LATER, Abby held up a dollar bill to the firelight. ”This is George Was.h.i.+ngton. He was the first president of the United States.” ”No king?”

50 .

”Nope. That's why we said 'no thank you' to England in the 1700s. We're all for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness without a monarchy to tell us how to go about it.”

Miles looked with interest at her wallet that sat between them on the blanket near the fire. Abby had appropriated his sleeping blanket as a car-pet. The chair was too uncomfortable for sitting, and the floor too dis-gusting for intimate contact.

”What else have you in that small purse?” he asked.

”Not as many things as I would like,” Abby said with a sigh.

She had her little wallet on a string, her gloves, and her keys. Her sungla.s.ses had been stuffed inside her coat. The only other things she'd had in her pocket were a plastic bag of gourmet jelly beans and some soggy lint. But he'd been fascinated by it all. She'd been fairly certain he'd believed her when he'd hit the floor in the kitchen, but there was nothing like a bit of substantial evidence to slam the door on doubt.

He'd examined her jeans closely, seemingly very impressed by the pockets and copper rivets. Her down coat was still dripping wet, but she had the feeling they'd be fighting over that once it was dry. Her under-wear and bra she'd finally had to rip out of his hands. It was then she'd given him her Garretts-don't-do-it-before-marriage speech. She'd ex-pected protests. Instead, she'd gotten a puzzled look.

”Of course you don't,” had been his only comment.

So, now they were sitting in front of his bonfire, examining the con-tents of her wallet and munching on Jelly Bellies.

”Aaack,” Miles said, chewing gingerly. ”What sort is this one?”

She learned forward and smelled. ”b.u.t.tered popcorn, I think.”

”Nasty.” He swallowed with a gulp. ”Is there this chocolate you spoke of?” he asked, poking around in the bag hopefully.

”I wish,” she said with feeling. She'd had one lemon jelly bean and given the rest to Miles. Unless sugar found itself mixed in with a gener-ous amount of cocoa, she wasn't all that interested. Now, if it had been a bag of M&M's she'd been packing, Miles would have been limited to a small taste and lots of sniffs. ”Chocolate doesn't even get to England until the seventeenth century. Trust me. This is history I know about.”

51 ”Where does it come from?”

”They grow it in Africa.”

”Oh,” he said, sounding almost as regretful as she felt. ”A bit of a journey.”

”You didn't see any on your travels?”

He shook his head. ”Not that I remember.”

Abby leaned back against the chair legs. ”What made you decide to go to Jerusalem?”

”I wanted to see the places my father had been in his youth, I suppose. My father had gone on the Lionheart's crusade, first as page, then squire to a Norman lord. My brothers followed in his footsteps to the Holy Land, even though there was no glorious war for them to wage.” He smiled faintly. ”I think I simply had a young man's desire to see the world and discover its mysteries. Instead, I saw cities ravaged by war, women with-out husbands, children without fathers.” He shrugged. ”I don't think fighting over relics was the message the Christ left behind Him. Perhaps I found it even more ironic because I overlooked the city of Jerusalem on Christmas day.”

”I take it that count you insulted didn't feel the same about it?”

Miles smiled. ”Indeed, he did not. And I am not shy about express-ing my opinions, whether I am in my cups or not.”

”Was your grandfather upset with you?”

”Nay. You see, of all his grandsons, he says I remind him overmuch of himself.” He smiled modestly, then continued. ”My eldest brother, Robin, would rather grumble and curse under his breath. Nicholas is a peacemaker and rarely says aught to offend. My younger brothers are giddy maids, talking of nothing but whatever ladyloves they are currently wooing.” He smiled again. ”I, on the other hand, am surly and moody and generally make certain others know that.”

”Oh, boy, surly and moody,” she said, with delight. ”And to think I could have landed in the moat of someone who was merely agreeable and deferring.”

”And how dull you would have found him to be,” he said with a grin. ”My grandsire shares my temperament. I am his favorite, of course.”

52 .

”Of course,” she agreed, dryly. ”You were just lucky he happened by when he did.”

”It is perhaps more than luck. I learned later one of his servants had been pa.s.sing by and heard me telling the count rather loudly that he was a mindless twit.”