Anne Barbour (10 page)

His thoughts drifted to Lady Hilary. She was not what one could call a tempting morsel to be sure—even if he were the sort of man to be tempted by feminine charms. That there might be something beneath her bonnet besides that tumble of incendiary curls made her more interesting, but not likely to charm him into a proposal of marriage. He was not a monk, of course, but his preferred female companions had always been voluptuous in form and mature in outlook. They clearly understood that all he wanted or needed was a physical relationship based on clearly stated boundaries and expectations.

He liked women well enough—in their place and as long as they did not look for a permanent union. He was forced to admit that, despite his earlier assumptions, the little Merton seemed to pose no threat in that direction. Actually, she appeared to have formed an aversion to him. Despite that fact, he looked forward to an association with the lady. How fortunate that she had established such a rapport with Rufus. She would no doubt be of help in prying all sorts of informational nuggets from the ancient soldier.

His mind drifted toward sleep, still mulling over the possibilities that dwelt in the bulky form of Minimus Rufus, but as his eyes finally closed, his thoughts were of the little gamine with whom he would begin work on the morrow.

Chapter Eight

“Humph!” exclaimed Hilary with an unladylike sniff. She had risen from her bed not an hour before and now sat at the breakfast table with her father, a note in her hand. “How very condescending of Mr. Wincanon.” She scanned the note. “He requests the pleasure of my company at his home today, at my earliest convenience, so that we might proceed with the excavation in his villa.”

She always relished this time of day, usually spent in companionable chatter with her father over morning toast and kippers. Today, after the rain, the sun fairly blazed on meadow and parkland as though to make up for its previous lapse. Hilary basked in the warmth streaming through the tall windows that overlooked the manor’s terrace.

“Goodness,” she remarked. “With harvest over and done with, Halloween will be on us soon. Has Mr. Archer seen about the bogeys for the ball? Everyone was so pleased with our celebration last year that it wouldn’t do to provide anything less this year.”

Lord Clarendon looked up from his paper. “It seems to me it’s getting so we make a great deal too much fuss over Halloween. According to the vicar, it’s turning into nothing more than a pagan romp. Bogeys, indeed. As though our steward had nothing better to do with his time. The night is not even a proper feast day, merely the eve of one, and I don’t see why we must borrow a barbarous Scottish custom merely to please our staff and tenants.”

Hilary laughed. “Because it’s not just the tenants who enjoy creating odd-looking lanterns from turnips. They add a festive touch to the ball, as well. In addition, the good reverend’s words would bear more weight if he did not always try to outdo everyone else with the ingenuity of his costume.”

The earl’s lips curved upward. “Yes, indeed. What was it last year? Ivan the Terrible? No, that was the year before.”

“Last year he and his wife came as shocks of wheat. It was very effective, except they kept dropping bits of chaff all over the ballroom. It made the dancing quite hazardous.”

Hilary spread a liberal dollop of butter on her toast.

“But what is this about Mr. Wincanon?” asked the earl. “I thought you and he did not hit it off.”

“Well, we didn’t,” responded Hilary tartly. “The man was an absolute boor. However—” She hesitated, uncertain as to how much she should divulge about yesterday’s adventure. Nothing, was her instant decision. Papa could be counted on to maintain a certain discretion, but he would no doubt assume his youngest daughter had taken leave of her senses if she began babbling of time-traveling Roman soldiers. “However”—she continued brightly— “I saw him again yesterday morning at his estate. I drove there to bring him the artifacts I had found earlier. On that occasion, he was more pleasant. Papa, do you know what I think? I believe he sees me as an empty-headed flibbertigibbet who is on the prowl for a husband.”

“Bless my soul!” exclaimed the earl. “The fellow must have rats in his attic. You have less interest in getting married than any other female of my acquaintance. As I know only too well,” he concluded with some asperity. “You ain’t interested in him, are you?” he added hopefully. “As a prospective husband?”

“Of course not. Mr. Wincanon may not be as unpleasant as I first thought him, but he is the last man in the world I would think of marrying.”

The earl sighed. “Seems to me that’s what you say about every man of your acquaintance.”

“Papa, you know I have no objection to marriage per se. Winifred and Susan and Meg seem very happy with their chosen mates, and William and Dickon, as well. I simply feel that if I’m going to give up my independence to some man, he’d better be one whom I can trust not to button it into a tight little box made of his own prejudices.”

“Yes, yes,” said her father with the air of a man who had heard all this many times before. “If you’re going to spend the day with Wincanon, however, be sure you take your maid.”

His paternal duty performed to his satisfaction, he returned to his paper.

Well, of course, there was no question, thought Hilary, finishing the last of her toast. She would accept Mr. Wincanon’s invitation, much as it galled her to do so. She was determined to be among those present when an interrogation of that gentleman took place.

The first thing she would ask was whether or not a vast bath complex actually lay beneath the pump room in the city of Bath. There was some controversy raging over this matter, Samuel Lyson and his followers declaring that the site contained not only the baths but no doubt a temple to Minerva. Others pooh-poohed the whole notion. Then, of course, closer to home, there was the matter of the fort at Caerleon. And then ... fairly shivering with anticipation, she gulped the last of her coffee and hurried from the room.

Unknown to her, a few miles away James was indulging in the same sort of reflections. He had been closeted with Minimus Rufus in his study for the better part of two hours, and the soldier’s descriptions of the layout of Cirencester made his mouth water.

“It’s as impressive a city as any in the empire,” declared Rufus, “as I’ve been telling Maia. She’s all for setting up shop in Glevum when I retire, but I told her, ‘No, no, it’s in Corinium where the money’s going to be.’ We’ll make a mint!” His face darkened. “If, that is, her oily brother doesn’t filch my savings.” He twisted to face James. “I must get back,” he said, for perhaps the twentieth time that morning. “When are you going to take me to the tower?”

“As soon as Lady Hilary arrives.”

Rufus seemed to relax fractionally. “Ah, good. I shall be glad to see her again.”

“In the meantime,” continued James, “what can you tell me about your fort at Caerleon?”

Rufus heaved a sigh of one much put upon. “I’ve told you already. We have fifty-five hundred men there, divided into twelve cohorts—all of the Second Legion.”

“The Second was formed during the reign of Augustus, was it not?”

“Of course. That’s why it’s called the Second Augusta. Best outfit in the army, if you ask me.”

At this point, a footman scratched at the door with the announcement that Lady Hilary had arrived. He was followed closely by the lady herself, and the next few moments were occupied in seeing to a replenishment of the coffeepot from which James and Rufus had been refreshing themselves.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you”—Rufus indicated his cup with a disdainful sweep of his hand—”what is this swill, anyway? It tastes like bull piss. Don’t you have a good honest soldier’s drink about? Some beer, maybe, or even a little wine? That stuff we had last night was good. Is it local? The Dobunni make a decent red. Well, not exactly decent, maybe, but drinkable. I think they concoct it out of apples and honey and some kind of berries. At any rate, it’s better than what we get at Isca, except for once in awhile when somebody gets in some good Mosel or even a Bordeaux. I remember a couple of weeks ago—”

“Yes, yes,” put in James. “But tell me about your barracks. And your bathhouse. Can you draw me a map? A friend of mine is digging there, and I’d like to be able to—” He turned to Hilary, who had just removed her pelisse and bonnet. ‘Take some notes, Lady Hilary, there’s a good girl. You’ll find paper and pens on the desk over there.”

Hilary bristled.

“Do you not have a secretary?” she asked sweetly, settling herself in a comfortable chair.

“Of course, I have,” replied James, a touch of irritation in his tone. “However, he is engaged in other duties. I rarely ask him to involve himself in my work with antiquities. I usually perform those tasks myself.”

“Well, do not let me stop you from performing them now.” Hilary poured a cup of coffee and helped herself to one of the scones that had been set out on the tray.

James drew a deep breath. “Lady Hilary,” he said with a growl, “perhaps we had better get a few things straight.”

Hilary bent a direct stare on him. “Yes, I very much think we should, Mr. Wincanon.”

As he gazed into Lady Hilary’s golden eyes, James experienced the oddest sensation that he was falling into a forest pool spackled by filtered sunlight. He had never known such a feeling before and it left him as shaken as though he were indeed in danger of drowning.

“If,” she continued in a voice of purest silk, “your purpose in inviting me here today was to act as your employee, I think it would be best if I were to leave. It will be my pleasure to assist you, but I will not be dictated to as though I were a hireling paid to scurry at your bidding.”

James blinked. This was exactly how he had expected their relationship to progress.

“Ah, no, of course not. That is”—he strove to regain his normal composure. “I do not consider you in any way my, er, hireling. However, I did not think you would mind a simple request. If you feel that taking a few notes is beyond your capability, why—”

“Mr. Wincanon, are you being deliberately insulting, or is this simply your natural unpleasantness manifesting itself?”

James paused as an unaccustomed and wholly unexpected twinge of shame snaked through him. However, he smiled perfunctorily. “You may interpret my words as you choose, Lady Hilary. What you call unpleasant and/or insulting is to me, simple honesty.”

“And your honesty, of course, compels you to give voice to the male view that all women are feather-witted ciphers who care nothing and know even less of any subject that does not concern fashion—or family—or how to snare a husband.” Anger brimmed in her incredible eyes.

“Exactly,” he replied dazedly. “Or—no,” he amended hastily. “That is—”

Lady Hilary’s lips curved in what might have been called a smile. “It’s all right, Mr. Wincanon. I am quite used to such a reaction.”

“Well, but you’re a female!” blurted James, all but clapping his hand to his mouth the second the words were uttered.

Lady Hilary stiffened as though he had slapped her. Good God, James thought in unwonted confusion, how could he have uttered such a completely unguarded—to say nothing of incendiary— statement to this spitting volcano in skirts?

“I suppose I should not be surprised at your blatant prejudice,” she snapped. “However, do you think that just for a moment you might strive for reason?”

At this point, Rufus, who had been amusing himself by dipping James’s pen into an inkwell and drawing stick figures on the cover of
The Gentleman’s Magazine,
spoke complainingly in his own tongue.

“Could you two continue your battle later? I am weary of listening to you and I wish to go to the tower. Now.”

Not unnaturally, the combatants fell silent, until James spoke at last.

“I apologize,” he said stiffly, “if I have offended you, my lady.”

Hilary held up a weary hand. “Oh, never mind, Mr. Wincanon. I—”

“You requested once before,” interposed James, “that I address you by your given name. I—that seems like a good idea, since we will be working together.” He placed a slight emphasis on the last word. “May I ask that you call me James, as well?”

He smiled suddenly, and Hilary drew in a sharp breath. She rather wished he wouldn’t do that, even though—or perhaps because—it created such a delicious sensation deep inside her.

“That will be acceptable,” she said primly.

“Very well, then—Hilary. I did indeed tell Minimus Rufus that we would go with him to the tower once you arrived. He seems to think that if he returns there, he might discover something helpful—toward getting him back to his own time.”

Hilary’s brows lifted. “I suppose that’s as good a theory as any. And perhaps on the way, we can question him about his own time period—although I suppose you have already started that process.”

“Yes, our guest has already provided
me with enough information to keep me busy for years.”

“Ohh,” breathed Hilary. “I can hardly wait to ply him with my own questions. Actually”—she continued with a grin that James found unexpectedly attractive—”I still cannot quite believe what has happened.” She glanced at Rufus, at the moment pouring a healthy dollop of wine from the decanter that stood on James’s desk. “To look at him, in his brogues and breeches, you would never believe he was born in the reign of Tiberis Caesar.”

“No, you could set him down into any country alehouse and he would fit right in.”

Hilary laughed. “I see what you mean. Yes, let us see what a visit to the tower will produce.”

Chapter Nine

It became apparent sometime later, as the three—accompanied by Jasper—entered the broken doorway of the tower, that little was to be accomplished there. There was nothing about the scene to indicate that an event of cosmic magnitude had occurred there the day before.

Truth to tell, the edifice was not impressive. It was roofless, and about ten feet in diameter. Its walls rose to a height of about fifteen feet in some places, and only two or three in others. What had once been an entryway could be plainly discerned, but its wooden door had long since vanished. One or two gaps along the walls indicated the placement of windows. Along one side ran an outcropping of masonry that might have formed part of the flooring for an upper story.