The Guardian (Chronicles of Dover's Amalgam Book 1) (12 page)

“I was merely stating that I understand what the institution of marriage entails. You must not continue to drop these small facts of my future. I am beginning to see why your time here with me is becoming limited. You cause me great upset.” Jareth’s chin lifted a notch. “Therefore, let us get on with the briefing. How am I to approach Elizabet about the storm?”

Gabriel frowned. He hated when Jareth took that ‘I’m your lord and master’ tone of voice. “You ask her,” he said pointedly, just to agitate Jareth. “Elizabet is not a girl who caves to being wooed or manipulated. Although a little wooing might go a long way, even with her. Have you tried to at least pretend you have a romantic bone in your body?”

“I shall travel to her home at first light of the morrow,” Jareth said. His hand sliced the air. “No wooing. No romance. She knows not to expect it of me.”

Gabriel knew when he was being dismissed. He yanked the time band from his wrist and tossed it open without preamble. “Cheeky jerk you are becoming, your grace. Please, hurry and grow up a little. I like the lovesick swain back home more than who I’m seeing today. I’m starting to hate you a little, myself.” He bowed mockingly as the portal expanded with light behind him. It contracted slightly as it fully opened to receive its traveler. “A word of advice. Get rid of that other girl—Catherine. Posthaste. While I may not have the details, I do know that when she is spoken of by the duchess, it isn’t favorable. She does something to the two of you that causes her to be banished from England.”

Jareth sneered. “Capital news. I look forward to being the one who has her banished.”

Chapter 7

Gueydan, Louisiana. Present Day.

JEREMY CAMERON WAS
considered weird. Those who were acquainted with him thought he was mildly retarded when truthfully, he was an undiagnosed autistic. Asperger’s Syndrome ran in the Cameron family. It was not common knowledge, but Elizabet knew the family on a personal level. They were her pastors, and she was a member of the choir. She had not shared that with Jareth because she was entitled to yet another secret of her own.

She observed as Jeremy led the congregation in the call to worship. Wednesday services were small and intimate, which was typical of a Presbyterian service. There was nothing, however, typical about Jeremy. He was a brilliant pianist. Even Catholics and people who were terrified of regulated religion buckers came to hear him play. It was his singular passion—music. As with most Asperger kids, his mind tended to primarily, obsessively, cling to a few narrow topics. His mother, Brenda, removed him from school when he was bullied and beaten, and now he was homeschooled because of his nature.

Over the years, he became a curiosity. He was not often seen outside of church service, and if one ran into him, they received few words. But when he was behind an instrument, it was evident he lost all insecurities. He wove a web with music that was tangible. One felt the passion he infused into the music.

Tonight, Elizabet was more spectator than member. Although what she was looking for was beyond her. Unless Jareth was seeking a new musician at church, he would be disappointed. Jeremy was boring when he was not singing or playing an instrument.

She sat in the last row, her eyes glued to the back of Jeremy’s head. Watching nothing and everything at the same time, she was compelled to do whatever Jareth asked like some blind, love-struck ninny. Which was ridiculous, because Jeremy barely moved while Pastor Jed, Jeremy’s father, gave the sermon—what there was of a sermon. There was a hurricane churning in the Gulf of Mexico, so his preaching naturally evolved into a local weather report.

Frankly, she was sick of hearing about it. Attending church was no different than visiting the local grocery store, which was precisely where she went after service. Benoit’s Grocery was owned by her mother’s twin sister, Gwen. It was a hub for information and where Jeremy could generally be found, because that was where Beau usually was. Beau was her first cousin and her best friend. Sad that a nine-year-old was her closest confident, but the truth was brutal.

Benoit’s Grocery was not just a store and meeting place for collecting information. It was part Cajun restaurant, part drive-thru cigarette and liquor shop. Jeremy had painted a mural on the side of the tin building last summer, depicting a caricature of a crawfish sitting in a hot tub which was actually a steaming pot of boiling water. The building was old, and attached to it was the rickety, tin living quarters of the Benoit family.

“Is that a new piano?” Elizabet asked Jeremy. It looked the same, but sounded different. “Newly tuned, maybe?” Jeremy did not answer. “Okay. Whatever.” She always felt awkward talking to Jeremy. It was mostly a one-way conversation. She tilted her Chocolate Soldier bottle in his direction in a salute before taking a long sip. She looked at him over the bottle as she drank, and waited for him to speak . . . or blink—anything. His eyes never left the untouched soda can directly in front of him on the red and white checked tablecloth.

Beau spun a bottle cap across the table. Flicked it as though she was skimming a rock across water. The top flew over the table and Frisbeed halfway across the room and onto an adjacent table. “I wish I could’ve been there.”

“Then tell your parents to go blow,” Elizabet said, and placed her drink on the table. She did not stop watching Jeremy. His eyes briefly flickered to where Beau’s dad was perched on a stool behind the register. “I can take you on Sunday, but you have to ask them yourself. I’m not fighting that battle for you.”

Beau’s gaze followed the same path Jeremy’s had taken. “Well, I guess I won’t be going either.” She stuck her tongue out at Elizabet.

“We should go,” Jeremy said. He stood at the same time Elizabet opened her mouth to scold Beau. The backs of his knees hit the seat of his chair and it tipped over. Beau scrambled to right it before it hit the floor. “Your dad is listening.” He dropped his voice, but his eyes remained focused on the can of soda as if it was his attentive audience.

Elizabet snorted and glanced at her uncle. She was frazzled from Jeremy’s sudden movement and how fast Beau covered it up, but made herself slowly sip her drink. “Then we should talk a little louder. He’s not a regulator. He can’t dictate where we go to church.” She twisted her lips before she took another sip of pop and spoke around the bottle. “He can’t dictate nothing.”

“You’re going to get her in trouble,” Jeremy said. He looked down on Elizabet. His black hair partially hid blue eyes, and those eyes were wide—threatening. “So shut up already.”

It was quite possibly the boldest thing Elizabet had ever heard him say, which was why it plagued her throughout the ride home. He had looked directly at her and spoken clearly. She knew that Beau and Jeremy were close, but had never noticed the protectiveness he extended.

Beau was
her
closest friend and she was shocked that she could overlook something that crucial. It went without saying that she did not like being in competition with a boy who could barely string along a sentence unless it was a musical lyric. Jeremy obviously was as passionate about keeping Beau safe from her crazy family as he was about music.

She thought on this until the headlights of the farm truck caught on a figure standing against the barn when she turned into the driveway. He was dressed differently, but that stance could only belong to one person.

The Duke of Dover had returned.

JARETH DID NOT
care for that material known as denim, but Gabriel assured him that the uncomfortable pants were acceptable for the time period he was traveling to. He referred to his new attire as a uniform he could don each time he hopped into a wormhole. The light colored denim and plain white cotton shirt were nothing compared to the boots, though. They were as stiff as a pair of silver gamblets. Definitely not made by Hoby. At least being overdressed was not a factor. Elizabet was wearing much the same. It would take time to become accustomed to women’s tendencies to dress like men.

“I wondered when you were gonna pop up again,” Elizabet said. She slammed the truck door and shoved the keys into the front pocket of her jeans. “How long have you been here?” She came around the truck and crossed her arms before her.

“Long enough to know you have a bandit problem.” He pointed to the window under the porch eve. The lights were on and the curtains open. She could make the outline of her grandmother in a recliner watching the barn.

“Bandit?” She furrowed her brow.

Jareth made like he was wearing a mask, a grin spreading on his face. “Cute, furry creatures.”

“Ah!” Elizabet nodded, understanding the sign language. “Coons. Yeah, they wreak havoc on the crawfish traps and feed supplies.” She glanced at the barn. “Did you just watch them tear things up? You stood here and did nothing while they robbed me blind?”

Jareth ducked his head and swiped at his left ear as mosquitos swarmed. “I have read that in this time, people are protective of animals.” He swiped at his other ear. “I did not want to offend.”

“True,” Elizabet replied. “But Grandma is old school. She shoots them from the porch. You’re lucky the Saints are playing tonight, otherwise a stray bullet . . .” She looked meaningfully at him.

Jareth’s hand paused above his ear.

A laugh bubbled up and out of Elizabet’s mouth. “Nah, the old lady’s pretty good with a rifle. She’d only hit you if she was aiming for you.” She uncrossed her arms to shove her hands into her back pockets.

“I suppose now would be the time to let you know I have a blade on my person,” Jareth said. His hair was a mess from his attempts at ridding the air of the flying pests and for the first time he looked his age. He was rumpled and dressed down. And adorable.

“Thanks for the warning.” She frowned irritably at her prior thoughts. He would assume she was scowling at him for merely existing. It needed to stay that way. Only a few days had passed since he visited and she had not expected him to return so quickly. “What brings you back so soon?”

“I have questions.” He pushed away from the post, sliced his hand next to his ear, and continued to frown at the swarm bent on sucking his blood.

Elizabet nodded. It made sense that he would be back for more information. Time traveling dukes must have serious business. “And I have answers, for a change. Let’s go up to the house. I’m sure Grandma spotted us and is wondering who you are. You’re lucky she didn’t take a shot at you, coons or not, with you hiding behind the post like that.”

Jareth looked over his shoulder at the post he had just vacated. “I was not hiding.”

“Not like you could anyway,” she said. He looked back at her. She smirked. He seemed out of sorts and she liked him that way. He was flushed, and annoyed over small creatures she was quite accustomed to. “You’ve filled out since your injury. Every time I see you, I swear you get bigger.”

“And you grow shorter.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed. She put her hands on her hips, aggravated that he brought that up. The boots she wore gave her a two-and-a-half-inch advantage she did not normally have. “Big bad wolf gonna blow my house down?” Her lips turned down in the corners. “I wondered how long you would play nice.” She shook her head and let her disgust show in her expression. “I should’ve known.”

“What?” She’d managed to baffle him.

“I’m short. I can’t help it.”

“What?”

His cute, bewildered face gave him away. She sighed. She could not even pick at him to offend him. “It’s the wolf thing that has you fixated—not that you insulted me?” He still looked confused. “Never mind.” She winged her arm toward him and began to walk. She wanted to punch him in the arm as she passed, but she refrained.

“You insulted me first. I have no reason to hide, and I most certainly do not lurk about.”

“Boo-hoo!” she said. He was not following; she turned to look back, and motioned with her hand. “Come on. Grandma with a gun—staring at us. Granddaughter with strange man in driveway. Hello?”

He took a few steps and she continued walking toward the house. She refused to watch the lazy lope in which he strode. When she was a child, she had been fascinated with panthers. That was what came to mind as she watched him move. He was calculated and loose at the same time, alert and attentive, but seeming about to pounce. It peeved her to admit he was attractive. To him, she was nothing but a means to an end. A spy. Someone who could give him the information he needed for his ‘host.’ They were friends. Period. She needed to become accustomed to the idea that he only wanted one thing, and that was what she could do for him and his host. The fact she was drawn to him must remain a secret

“It wasn’t an insult,” Elizabet said. “What I meant was that you look better—healthier. I didn’t mean you were a creeper or anything. It came out wrong.” She glanced back, much to her detriment. “What I meant was that you don’t look like the angel of death is hovering over you anymore.” Contrary, actually; he looked like a teenage dream. Something unreal and frightfully beautiful at the same time. She rolled her eyes in the darkness, thankful that her thoughts were not hooked to a microphone.

“I have you to thank for that.”

Elizabet stopped and turned to him. “Did you just thank me?”

He was walking with his gaze lowered and nearly slammed into her. Elizabet stepped back quickly to avoid the crash. “I believe I did,” he said. “And I apologize if mentioning your height causes you discomfort. Forgive me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I forgive you.”

“Thank you.”

“Impressive. You said that twice in one day.” She turned back and proceeded to walk toward the house again. “So, what should I tell my grandma about you?”

“The truth,” he said, and paused before he followed. “But only what is necessary.”

“Hey, Grandma,” Elizabet mocked. “This is Jareth, the Duke of Dover. He just stopped by, passing through our century through a wormhole, and he’s asking questions about a young boy in the area. Yeah. Sounds perf. Next idea. I don’t want to be locked away in nut house just because you’ve got a conscience.”

“Just Jareth will do,” Jareth said. “You may tell her that I am new to the Presbyterian congregation. A traveling minister, if you will.”