threw her arms around him and clung.
âOh, man,â she said, feeling herself beginning to wheeze again. It was a nasty habit sheâd gotten into lately. She was certain wheezing was something no respectable Garrett ever found herself doing. âOh, man, oh, man,â she wheezed again.
âBy the saints, youâre trembling,â Miles said, sounding surprised. He stroked her back with his large hand. âThereâs nothing to fear, Abigail.â
âItâs 1238!â she exclaimed against his very rough, very un-department-store-like shirt.
âSee?â Miles said, obviously trying to sound soothing. âYouâve remembered the year. âTis a most encouraging sign. Iâm certain âtwas simply a bit of chill that seeped into your head and addled your wits for a time. Reason is most definitely returning to you.â
Abby felt her tights beginning to slip and she made a grab for them before they migrated any further south. She tilted her head back and looked at Miles.
âIt really is 1238, isnât it?â she whispered. âAnd you really are Miles of Spendingthornââ
âSpeningethorpeââ
âWhatever, and you really are a knight, arenât you?â
âFor what it is worth, aye, I am.â
Well, stranger things had happened. Like Sir Sweetums walking through a thick, wooden plank of a door.
Then there was her trip down into Murphyâs Pond the night before to consider. That had taken an awfully long time, hadnât it?
But seven hundred years?
She rested her nose against Milesâs chest and contemplated. Garretts didnât faint. Garretts didnât run away from difficulties. Garretts didnât lose their marbles.
Funny, sheâd never heard anything about Garretts not time-traveling.
She looked up at Miles. âYou donât believe in witches, do you?â
He smiled faintly. âHaving come within scorching distance of a healthy bonfire myself, I would have to say nay, I do not believe in witches.â
âThen I think you should sit down.â
âWhy?â
âBecause youâre going to fall down when I tell you what I have to tell you. Itâll hurt less if youâre closer to the ground.â
Miles looked at her archly. âThe de Piagets of Artane do not faint.â
Abby reached up and patted him on his beautiful cheek. âThereâs a first time for everything, toots.â
âToots? Why do you persist in calling me that?â
Abby took his hand and pulled him back inside the hall. Heâd just have to trust her on this one.
And she definitely hoped heâd meant what heâd said about the witch thing, or she was certain her revelations would land her in the fire.
Chapter Four
MILES FROWNED TO himself as he allowed Abigail to pull him back inside his hall. Something had obviously troubled her deeply, if her frantic flight from his fire was any indication. But what? She had looked at him as if she were seeing a ghost.
He realized abruptly that he was allowing himself to be led and he dug in his heels. Abigail stopped and looked at him with that same, almost frantic look. Miles held his ground.
âWhatever you have to tell me, you may most certainly tell me while we are standing. Indeed, I insist upon it.â
He looked down at her as he said it, and wondered if she shouldnât be the one sitting down. She was very pale. Saints, had she suffered some sort of injury that had damaged her mind so that she barely remembered the date?
He lifted his hands and cupped her face, rubbing his thumbs gently across her cheeks. Her skin was so soft and fair. Perhaps she was a noblemanâs daughter who had become lost and wandered into his moat. Never mind how she was dressed. It was possible her sire employed seamstresses with very odd ideas on fashion. He should have questioned her sooner about her family, but heâd been too bemused by her actions