The More I See You

Book 5: de Piaget Family

by Lynn Kurland

Genres: Medieval Romance; Scottish & Highlander; Time Travel Romance

Synopsis

A wish upon a star transports the luckless-in-love Jessica Blakely back in time to the thirteenth century. But her desire for a fair and gallant knight yields the fearsome Richard De Galtres. And it will take her tender touch--and stubborn will--to pierce his armor-clad heart...

Release date: October 1, 1999

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 400

Sample

—The Oakland Press

“Both powerful and sensitive . . . a wonderfully rich and rewarding book.”

—#1 New York Times bestselling author Susan Wiggs

“A sweet, tenderhearted time travel romance.”

—Joyfully Reviewed

“A story on an epic scale . . . Kurland has written another time travel marvel . . . Perfect for those looking for a happily ever after.”

—RT Book Reviews

“[A] triumphant romance.”

—Fresh Fiction

“A perfect blend of medieval intrigue and time travel romance. I was totally enthralled from the beginning to the end.”

—Once Upon a Romance

“Woven with magic, handsome heroes, lovely heroines, oodles of fun, and plenty of romance . . . just plain wonderful.”

—Romance Reviews Today

“Spellbinding and lovely, this is one story readers won’t want to miss.”

—Romance Reader at Heart

“Breathtaking in its magnificent scope.”

—Night Owl Romance

“Sweetly romantic and thoroughly satisfying.”

—Booklist

“A pure delight.”

—Huntress Book Reviews

“A consummate storyteller.”

—ParaNormal Romance Reviews

“A disarming blend of romance, suspense, and heartwarming humor, this book is romantic comedy at its best.”

—Publishers Weekly

“A totally enchanting tale, sensual and breathtaking.”

—Rendezvous

Titles by Lynn Kurland

STARDUST OF YESTERDAY

A DANCE THROUGH TIME

THIS IS ALL I ASK

THE VERY THOUGHT OF YOU

ANOTHER CHANCE TO DREAM

THE MORE I SEE YOU

IF I HAD YOU

MY HEART STOOD STILL

FROM THIS MOMENT ON

A GARDEN IN THE RAIN

DREAMS OF STARDUST

MUCH ADO IN THE MOONLIGHT

WHEN I FALL IN LOVE

WITH EVERY BREATH

TILL THERE WAS YOU

ONE ENCHANTED EVENING

ONE MAGIC MOMENT

ALL FOR YOU

ROSES IN MOONLIGHT

The Novels of the Nine Kingdoms

STAR OF THE MORNING

THE MAGE’S DAUGHTER

PRINCESS OF THE SWORD

A TAPESTRY OF SPELLS

SPELLWEAVER

GIFT OF MAGIC

DREAMSPINNER

Anthologies

THE CHRISTMAS CAT

(with Julie Beard, Barbara Bretton, and Jo Beverley)

CHRISTMAS SPIRITS

(with Casey Claybourne, Elizabeth Bevarly, and Jenny Lykins)

VEILS OF TIME

(with Maggie Shayne, Angie Ray, and Ingrid Weaver)

OPPOSITES ATTRACT

(with Elizabeth Bevarly, Emily Carmichael, and Elda Minger)

LOVE CAME JUST IN TIME

A KNIGHT’S VOW

(with Patricia Potter, Deborah Simmons, and Glynnis Campbell)

TAPESTRY

(with Madeline Hunter, Sherrilyn Kenyon, and Karen Marie Moning)

TO WEAVE A WEB OF MAGIC

(with Patricia A. McKillip, Sharon Shinn, and Claire Delacroix)

THE QUEEN IN WINTER

(with Sharon Shinn, Claire Delacroix, and Sarah Monette)

A TIME FOR LOVE

Specials

“TO KISS IN THE SHADOWS” from TAPESTRY

LYNN KURLAND

I would like to express gratitude to the following individuals:

Tricia Barile, for sanity-saving postpartum advice and for an enlightening discussion of fevers and wounds;

Claire Lorimer and Ashley Beazer, who contributed a great deal to making the completion of this book possible;

Leslie and Ashley, for the use of their family name;

And to the remarkable musicians whose influence upon me at pivotal times in my life cannot be measured: Judith Jane Wright; Richard Lee; Jeff Cooke; Dr. Ronald J. Staheli; Dr. David H. Sargent; Ray L. Arbizu; Dr. Clayne Robison; Randy Kartchner; Dwight Ostergaard; and Matthew Curland. Thank you. My life is better for having known you.

I have you fast in my fortress,

      And will not let you depart,

But put you down into the dungeon

      In the round-tower of my heart.

And there will I keep you forever,

      Yes, forever and a day,

Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,

      And moulder in the dust away!

                Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Table of Contents

1

Jessica Blakely didn’t believe in Fate.

Yet as she stood at the top of a medieval circular staircase and peered down into its gloomy depths, she had to wonder if someone other than herself might be at the helm of her ship, as it were. Things were definitely not progressing as she had planned. Surely Fate had known she wasn’t at all interested in stark, bare castles or knights in rusting armor.

Surely.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to examine the turns of events that had brought her to her present perch. Things had seemed so logical at the time. She’d gone on a blind date, accepted said blind date’s invitation to go to England as part of his university department’s faculty sabbatical, then hopped cheerfully on a plane with him two weeks later.

Their host was Lord Henry de Galtres, possessor of a beautifully maintained Victorian manor house. Jessica had taken one look and fallen instantly in love—with the house, that is. The appointments were luxurious, the food heavenly, and the surrounding countryside idyllic. The only downside was that for some unfathomable reason, Lord Henry had decided that the crumbling castle attached to his house was something that needed to remain undemolished. Just the sight of it had sent chills down Jessica’s spine. She couldn’t say why, and she hadn’t wanted to dig around to find the answer.

Instead, she’d availed herself of all the modern comforts Lord Henry’s house could provide. And she’d been certain that when she could tear herself away from her temporary home-away-from-home, she might even venture to London for a little savings-account-reducing shopping at Harrods. Yet before she could find herself facing a cash register, she’d been driven to seek sanctuary in the crumbling castle attached to Lord Henry’s house.

There was something seriously amiss in her life.

A draft hit her square in the face, loaded with the smell of seven centuries’ worth of mustiness. She coughed and flapped her hand in front of her nose. Maybe she should have kept her big mouth shut and avoided expressing any disbelief in Providence.

Then again, it probably would have been best if she’d remained silent a long time ago, maybe before she’d agreed to that blind date. She gave that some thought, then shook her head. Her troubles had begun long before her outing with Archibald Stafford III. In fact, she could lay her finger on the precise moment when she had lost control and Fate had taken over.

Piano lessons. At age five.

You wouldn’t think that something so innocuous, so innocent and child-friendly would have led a woman where she never had any intention of having gone, but Jessica couldn’t find any evidence to contradict the results.

Piano lessons had led to music scholarships, which had led to a career in music that had somehow demolished her social life, leaving her no choice but to sink to accepting the latest in a series of hopeless blind dates: Archie Stafford and his shiny penny loafers. Archie was the one who had invited her to England for a month with all expenses paid. He had landed the trip thanks to a great deal of sucking up to the dean of his department. He didn’t exactly fit in with the rest of the good old boys who clustered with the dean and Lord Henry every night smoking cigars into the wee hours, but maybe that’s what Archie aspired to.

Jessica wondered now how hard up he must have been for a date to have asked her to come along. At the time he’d invited her, though, she’d been too busy thinking about tea and crumpets to let the invitation worry her. It had been a university-sponsored outing. She’d felt perfectly safe.

Unfortunately, being Archie’s guest also meant that she had to speak to him, and that was something she wished she could avoid for the next three weeks. It was only on the flight over that she’d discovered the depth of his swininess. She made a mental note never to pull out her passport for anyone she’d known less than a month if such an occasion should arise again.

But like it or not, she was stuck with him for this trip, which meant at the very least polite conversation, and if nothing else, her mother had instilled in her a deep compulsion to be polite.

Of course, being civil didn’t mean she couldn’t escape now and then—which was precisely what she was doing at present. Unfortunately escape had meant finding the one place where Archie would never think to look for her.

The depths of Henry’s medieval castle.

She wondered if an alarm would sound if she disconnected the rope that barred her way. She looked to her left and saw that there were a great many people who would hear such an alarm if it sounded. Maybe she wouldn’t be noticed in the ensuing panic. Apparently Lord Henry funded some of his house upkeep by conducting tours of his castle. Those tours were seemingly well attended, if the one in progress was any indication.

Jessica eyed the sightseers. They were moving in a herdlike fashion and it was possible they might set up a stampede if she startled them. They were uncomfortably nestled together, gaping at cordoned-off family heirlooms, also uncomfortably nestled together. Marcham was a prime destination spot and Jessica seemed to have placed herself in the midst of the latest crowd at the precise moment she needed the most peace and quiet. She had already done the castle tour and learned more than she wanted to know about Burwyck-on-the-Sea and its accompanying history. Another lesson on the intricacies of medieval happenings was the last thing she needed at the moment.

“—Of course the castle here at Marcham, or Merceham, as it was known in the 1300s, was one of the family’s minor holdings. Even though it has been added to during the years and extensively remodeled during the Victorian period, it is not the most impressive of the family’s possessions. The true gem of the de Galtres crown lies a hundred and fifty kilometers away on the eastern coast. If we move further along here, you’ll find a painting of the keep.”

The crowd shuffled to the left obediently as the tour guide continued with his speech.

“As you can see here in this rendering of Burwyck-on-the-Sea—aptly named, if I might offer an opinion—the most remarkable feature of the family’s original seat is the round tower built not into the center of the bailey as we find in Pembroke Castle, but rather into the outer seawall. I imagine the third lord of the de Galtres family fancied having his ocean view unobstructed—”

So Jessica and he heartily agreed with the sentiment, but for now an ocean view was not what she was interested in. If the basement was roped off it could only mean that it was free of tourists and tour guides. It was also possible that below was where the castle kept all its resident spiders and ghosts, but it was a chance she would have to take. Archie would never think to look for her there. Ghosts could be ignored. Spiders could be squashed.

She put her shoulders back, unhooked the rope, and descended.

She stopped at the foot of the steps and looked for someplace appropriate. Suits of armor stood at silent attention along both walls. Lighting was minimal and creature comforts nonexistent, but that didn’t deter her. She walked over the flagstones until she found a likely spot, then eased her way between a fierce-looking knight brandishing a sword and another grimly holding a pike. She did a quick cobweb check before she settled down with her back against the stone wall. It was the first time that day she’d been grateful for the heavy gown she wore. A medieval costume might suit her surroundings, but it seemed like a very silly thing to wear to an afternoon tea—and said afternoon tea was precisely what she’d planned to avoid by fleeing to the basement.

Well, that and Archie.

She reached into her bag and pulled out what she needed for complete relaxation. Reverently, she set a package of two chilled peanut-butter cups on the stone floor. Those she would save for later. A can of pop followed. The floor was cold enough to keep it at a perfect temperature as well. Then she pulled out her portable CD player, put the headphones on her head, made herself more comfortable, and, finally closing her eyes with a sigh, pushed the play button. A chill went down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold stone.

Bruckner’s Seventh could do that-to a girl, given the right circumstances.

Jessica took a deep breath and prepared for what she knew was to come. The symphony started out simply. She knew eventually it would increase in strength and magnitude until it came crashing down on her with such force that she wouldn’t be able to catch her breath.

She felt her breathing begin to quicken and had to wipe her palms on her dress. It was every bit as good as it had been the past 139 times she had listened to the same piece. It was music straight from the vaults of heav—

Squeak.

Jessica froze. She was tempted to open her eyes, but she was almost certain what she would see would be a big, fat rat sitting right next to her, and then where would she be? Her snack was still wrapped, and since it really didn’t count as food anyway, what could a rat want with it? She returned her attentions to the symphony. It was the London Philharmonic, one of her favorite orchestras—

Wreek, wreek, wreeeeeek.

Rusty shutters? Were there shutters in the basement? Hard to say. She wasn’t about to open her eyes and find out. There was probably some kind of gate nearby and it was moving thanks to a stiff breeze set up by all the tourists tromping around upstairs. Or maybe it was a trapdoor to the dungeon. She immediately turned away from that thought, as it wasn’t a place she wanted to go. She closed her eyes even more firmly. It was a good thing she was so adept at shutting but distractions. The noise might have ruined the afternoon for her otherwise.

Wreeka, wreeka, wreeeeeka.

All right, that was too much. It was probably some stray kid fiddling with one of the suits of armor. She’d give him an earful, send him on his way, and get back to her business.

She opened her eyes—then shrieked.

There, looming over her with obviously evil intent, was a knight in full battle gear. She pushed herself back against the stone wall, pulling her feet under her and wondering just what she could possibly do to defend herself. The knight, however, seemed to dismiss her upper person because he bent his helmeted head to look at her feet. By the alacrity with which he suddenly leaned over in that direction, she knew what was to come.

The armor creaked as the mailed hand reached out. Then, without any hesitation, the fingers closed around her peanut-butter cups. The visor was flipped up with enthusiasm, the candy’s covering ripped aside with more dexterity than any gloved hand should have possessed, and Jessica’s last vestige of American junk food disappeared with two great chomps.

The chomper burped.

“Hey, Jess,” he said, licking his chops, “thought you might be down here hiding. Got any more of those?” He pointed at the empty space near her feet, his arm producing another mighty squeak.

Rule number one: No one interrupted her during Bruckner.

Rule number two: No one ate her peanut-butter cups, especially when she found herself stranded in England for a month without the benefit of a Mini Mart down the street. She had yet to see any peanut-butter cups in England and she’d been saving her last two for a quiet moment alone. Well, at least the thief hadn’t absconded with her drink as of yet—

“Geez, Jess,” he said, reaching for her can of pop, popping the top and draining the contents, “why are you hiding?”

She could hardly think straight. “I was listening to Bruckner.”

He burped loudly. “Never understood a girl who could get all sweaty over a bunch of fairies playing the violin.” He squashed the can, then grinned widely at the results a mailed glove could generate. Then he looked at her and winked. “How’d you like to come here and give your knight in shining armor a big ol’ kiss?”

I’d rather kiss a rat was on the tip of her tongue, but Archibald Stafford III didn’t wait for the words to make it past her lips. He hauled her up from between her guardians—and a fat lot of good two empty suits of armor had done her—sending her CD player and headphones crashing to the ground, pulled her against him, and gave her the wettest, slobberiest kiss that had ever been given an unwilling maiden fair.

She would have clobbered him, but she was trapped in a mailed embrace and powerless to rescue herself.

“Let me go,” she squeaked.

“What’s the matter? Aren’t you interested in my strong, manly arms?” he said, giving her a squeeze to show just how strong and manly his arms were.

“Not when they’re squeezing the life from me,” she gasped. “Archie, let me go!”

“It’ll be good for research purposes.”

“I’m a musician, for heaven’s sake. I don’t need to do this kind of research. And you are a . . .” and she had to pause before she said it because she still couldn’t believe such a thing was possible, given the new insights she’d had into the man currently crushing the life from her, “a . . . philosopher,” she managed. “A tenured philosophy professor at a major university, not a knight.”

Archibald sighed with exaggerated patience. “The costume party, remember?”

As if she could forget, especially since she was already dressed à la medieval, complete with headgear and lousy shoes. Why the faculty had chosen to dress themselves up as knights and ladies fair she couldn’t have said. It had to have been the brainchild of that nutty history professor who hadn’t been able to clear his sword through airport security. She’d known just by looking at him that he was trouble.

If only she’d been as observant with Archie. And now here she was, staring at what had, at first blush, seemed to be one of her more successful blind dates. She could hardly reconcile his current self with his philosophy self. Either he’d gotten chivalry confused with chauvinism, or wearing that suit of armor too long had allowed metal to leach into his brain and alter his personality.

“I’ll carry you up,” Archie said suddenly. “It’ll be a nice touch.”

But instead of being swept up into his arms, which would have been bad enough, she found herself hoisted and dumped over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“My CD player,” she protested.

“Get it later,” he said, trudging off toward the stairs.

She struggled, but it was futile. She thought about name-calling, but that, she decided, was beneath her. He’d have to put her down eventually and then she would really let him have it. For the moment, however, it was all she could do to avoid having her head make contact with the stairwell as Archie huffed up the steps. He paused and Jessica heard a cacophony of startled gasps. Fortunately she was hanging mostly upside down, so her face couldn’t get any redder.

“I love this medieval stuff,” Archie announced to whatever assembly was there, “don’t you?”

And with that, he slapped her happily on the rump—to the accompaniment of more horrified gasps—and continued on his way.

Jessica wondered if that sword she’d seen with the armor in the basement was sharp. Then again, maybe it would be just as effective if it were dull. Either way, she had the feeling she was going to have to use it on the man who chortled happily as he carried her, minus her dignity, on down the hallway to where she was certain she would be humiliated even further.

•   •   •

She was trapped for almost an hour at the costumed tea before she managed to escape. She had Lord Henry to thank for her liberation. He’d removed her from Archie’s clutches with a firm “tut, tut, old man, don’t monopolize the girl,” escorted Jessica to the door, and brushed aside her heartfelt thanks.

“Go walk in the garden, my dear,” Henry had said with a kind smile. “I’ll occupy him well enough. We’ll discuss Plato.”

She had taken the time to find a bathroom, wash her face, and remove the wimple she’d put on earlier in the day. She studiously ignored the fact that when she’d first seen her postparty self, her headgear had been sliding off her head. That was thanks to Archie’s unruly transportation of her person; she’d been too flustered to try to adjust anything once she’d reached the party.

Just another reason to find a dull blade and whack the goon with it.

She tucked the wimple into her belt and left the bathroom. The garden sounded like a good idea. It was October and already a chilly one, but the paths were smooth and wide and she didn’t need dozens of blooming roses to soothe her spirit.

She paused at the top of the cellar stairs and wondered about the advisability of leaving her CD player down there. She shook her head and turned away before she could give it any more thought. It was stuck behind a suit of armor and wasn’t going anywhere. Besides, she just wasn’t up to facing that dark pit again. Maybe one of Lord Henry’s staff could retrieve it for her later.

She turned and made her way to the gallery where she’d left the tourists reeling from her ride on Archie’s shoulder. Large French doors opened onto the garden at the end of the room. Jessica started toward them purposefully, fully intending to ignore all Lord Henry’s treasures.

But, in spite of herself, she found herself pausing in front of the painting of Burwyck-on-the-Sea.

The view was from the sea. The water churned ferociously against the stone foundations of the castle. At one corner of the castle a large round tower sat atop the rocks, looking almost as if it had grown out of them. The castle might have been comfortably large, but Jessica suspected it was very drafty and quite chilly.

It was definitely not the place for her.

She walked away quickly. What she needed was some fresh air and then maybe a return to her room for some hot chocolate enjoyed behind a locked door. She opened one of the French doors and stepped out into the evening air.

She pulled the door shut behind her, leaned back against it, and took a deep breath. The sun was setting, the air was still and thick, and for the first time in days she felt herself start to relax.

She needed a vacation from her life, sans Mr. Stafford III and his hoisting ways. She’d secretly been hoping the trip to England would give her a chance to get some perspective on the Big Picture. She’d envisioned some free time spent holed up in her room, again sans Mr. Stafford III, sorting out her innermost goals and desires. She’d been certain cucumber sandwiches would have aided her greatly in coming up with just what was missing.

She wrapped her arms around herself and wandered down the path through the manicured bushes. Maybe it was all much simpler than she wanted to believe. It was true that she had a wonderful career as composer-in-residence at a small, exclusive university, she had a great sublet in Manhattan, and she still had her high-school waistline.

But what she didn’t have was a family of her own.

She stopped suddenly as she caught sight of a statue to her left. Some ancestor of heroic proportions stared down at her from his perch atop a marble horse. His features were fixed in an eternal sneer.

“Well,” she said defensively, “marriage is the natural state of man.”

He remained seemingly unimpressed.

“Ben Franklin said so,” she added.

The statue refrained from comment. Jessica shrugged and continued on her way. That had been her father’s favorite saying and his marriage to her mother had been proof of it. They’d been happy and fulfilled, so much so that her mother still seemed sustained by that happiness, even though Jessica’s father had passed away almost two years earlier.

And maybe that was part of her discontent. Life was short. It seemed a shame to waste it on just herself if there might be something she could do to change that.

It looked like more blind dates were in her future.

She sighed and looked heavenward. If only there were an easier way to meet a decent guy who might be interested in settling down and producing a bit of offspring. She picked out a star and wished on it.

“A decent guy,” she began, then shook her head. She was wishing. Why not go all the way?

“All right, since we’re here in England, I’ll have a fair and gallant knight,” she amended. “One with lots of chivalry. And I’d like one with a steady job, an even temper, and a house with room enough for a concert grand piano. And I’d like this man to love me at least as much as he loves himself. That isn’t too much to ask, is it?”

The heavens were silent.

Jessica sighed and continued down the path. Archie was living proof that all those things were just wishful thinking. Just once, if only for a few days, she wanted to meet a man who would look on her as an equal. Surely there had to be someone out there with a hint of true chivalry in his black soul. The face of a pirate and the heart of a poet. Other people found men like that. Why couldn’t she?

She could, and she would. She would tell Archie in no uncertain terms that the winds had shifted and were definitely not favorable where he was concerned, then she would return to New York and make a conscious effort to get herself set up with better blind dates.

She shivered, suddenly realizing how cold it was outside. Warmth from righteous indignation lasted only so long after the fog rolled in. Then she frowned. They were an awfully long way from the coast for fog to be rolling in. Maybe there was a serious storm brewing. The thought of her cheery fireplace in Lord Henry’s house was sounding very nice all of a sudden. Maybe just another few minutes to really get uncomfortable, then she would head back and treat herself to an enormous cup of hot chocolate.

A hound bayed in the distance.

Jessica tripped over a loose stone and barely caught herself before she lost her balance. She straightened and took a shaky breath or two, wondering how stones had suddenly found their way into the garden. She bypassed the stone, then stopped again just as suddenly.

The garden was gone.

Well, the land wasn’t gone, but the nicely tended beds certainly were. Jessica frowned. Could she have been so irritated that she had walked to the edge of Lord Henry’s garden without realizing it? The garden was a great deal bigger than that and she was sure that what had lain beyond it looked nothing like the rocky, poorly tilled bit of soil in front of her.

More hounds bayed. Hounds? She didn’t remember Henry having had hounds. Maybe she had lost herself in the mist and wandered onto a neighbor’s property. A neighbor with dogs that sounded as if they hadn’t been fed in a while. A horn sounded closer to her, mingling with the renewed barking.

The fog began to lift. She could have sworn she heard a faint jingling sound, not the sound of bells, but the sound of metal against metal. She knew she wasn’t imagining the voices, or the renewed horn calls. She realized, with a start, that standing out in the middle of a field with what sounded like a hunting party approaching wasn’t very intelligent. The best thing to do would be to turn around and go back the way she had come. She started to when she caught sight of dogs racing across the field toward her, followed by horsemen.

She was very tempted to stand there and gape. Fortunately some small part of her brain was acting on instinct; she turned and ran almost before she realized she nee