Chapter 29

Imogen smoothed her hand over her hair and felt rather satisfied that it was as straight as it should have been. It wasn’t that her hair was particularly curly, it was just that she liked to have even the bends out of it. She was afraid it wouldn’t last, but at least for the moment, she had complete control over something.

Her hair was the only thing she had control over. She didn’t even have control over her schedule. Marcus had called her the day before and told her to meet him at the castle. He wanted a professional’s opinion on what backdrop made him look the most like a leading man. She didn’t bother to remind him that his father’s current project was a musical and he couldn’t carry a tune.

She didn’t even have any control over her very strange social life that wasn’t really a social life. Phillip had texted her the day before and told her he was busy with a project she sincerely hoped didn’t include an interview with the head of the local paranormal investigation society. He was an adult. He was probably eating his way from one end of the city to the other, then visiting historical sites to see what might be in store for him down the road when he was back in his proper time.

She exchanged a knowing look with her reflection, then turned away and steeled herself for a very long day.

The truth was, she had to get back to work. She was trying to hold down her dream job so she could pursue her dream career. She had contacts to impress, tone-deaf sons of executive producers to keep at bay, and an assistant who shouldn’t have been her assistant to placate. She was busy, busy, busy.

At least she’d gotten a decent night’s sleep. She had her brother Howard to thank for that, surprisingly enough. He’d provided her with her own room down the hall from her parents’ presidential-level suite of the swankiest hotel in Edinburgh. It beat the hell out of being forced to share a bed with Prissy. She was fairly sure she’d slept on the floor the first night only because no one would let her touch any furniture. She hadn’t been looking forward to waking up with one-inch bangs because Pristine Maxwell had been sleepwalking with scissors. It wouldn’t have been the first time, that was for certain.

Howard had extricated her from the family after they’d returned from the ghost walk, then handed her a card key. When she’d asked him why, he’d said simply guilty conscience, smiled, and distracted her parents long enough for her to get her stuff out of their room and get to her own.

Her brother was turning forty in a month. Obviously it was having a bigger impact on him than he wanted to admit.

She opened her door very quietly and peeked out into the hallway. It was empty, fortunately, so she pulled the door shut behind her and escaped while she still could. There was no way she was going to wait for an elevator when there were perfectly good stairs right there. And if she scampered through the lobby at a dead run, who could blame her? She had things to do and places to go.

She ran out of the lobby and straight into an older man in a suit before she realized he was in front of her.

“Oh,” she said, slightly horrified, “I’m so sorry. And glad I didn’t knock you over.”

The man only smiled pleasantly. “Not to worry, miss.” He gestured toward a car parked where she suspected cars weren’t supposed to be parked. “I’m at your disposal today.”

She looked at him in surprise. “Did my brother hire you?”

“Och, nay, miss. I’m the lady Heather’s chauffeur.”

“Oh,” Imogen said, “of course.”

She got into the back when he opened the door for her, hoping she wasn’t about to have another very quick trip into another century, then looked at the hotel as the car started to pull away. Her sister was standing there at the front door, her mouth working furiously. Imogen considered, then blew her sister a kiss. She would pay for that later, of course, but hopefully Prissy wouldn’t be able to get into her room and trash the place. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

“Where to, Miss Imogen?”

“The castle, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” she said. “I can get there myself, really—”

“’Tis my pleasure to drive you there,” he said. “If you’re not in a hurry, we can take the long way.”

She wasn’t sure that would be a good thing. The last time she’d taken the long way anywhere, she’d wound up in 1254, but the car wasn’t giving off any sort of paranormal vibe and neither was Heather’s chauffeur, so maybe she was safe.

“Sure,” she said. “That’d be great.”

She watched the city scenery as they rolled past it and had to admit she was grateful for a comfortable seat from which to do so. The horse Rose had chosen for her had been very fast and seemingly interested in keeping her on his back, but it hadn’t been a comfortable trip north. No wonder Heather was so attached to the twenty-first century.

“I’ll need to let you out here, miss,” Heather’s driver said suddenly. “’Tis as close as I can come and still wait for you.”

“Oh, you don’t need to wait,” Imogen said. “I could be here for quite a while.”

He looked at her in his rearview mirror. “As you say, then, but I’ll give you my mobile number. Ring me when you’re ready to be picked up.”

Imogen nodded, then looked at the buildings that were just slightly lower than the castle itself. Or she would have been looking at them if she hadn’t been so distracted by the sight of an extremely expensive-looking car parked right where she supposed she might like to be dropped off.

“Wow,” she said without thinking.

The chauffeur sighed heavily. “That boy.”

“Do you know the owner?” she asked in surprise.

“Owner and, I imagine, the driver as well.” He stopped next to that incredible sports car, then looked over his shoulder. “Ring me when you’re finished, aye?”

She nodded as she took the card he handed her, then got herself out of the backseat and onto the sidewalk. She watched the Rolls drive off and took the opportunity to have another little look at that bright red Porsche. It looked like it was going eighty just sitting there. She couldn’t say she had very many weaknesses when it came to material things, but there was something about a crushingly expensive sports car that really got her going.

The driver’s door opened.

And out stepped Phillip de Piaget.

She gaped at him for as long as it took him to lock up the car and come stand in front of her on the sidewalk. Then she laughed.

“What are you doing in that thing?”

“Trying not to ding it,” he said with an uneasy laugh of his own. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re going to have nightmares when you get back home.”

“If I thought I could get that beast through Heather’s floor, believe me, I would be taking it back with me.”

“No fuel,” she said, “and it’s been tried before as a plot device in a movie. You’d have to just park it in your courtyard and stave off the guys who’d want to burn you at the stake for it.”

He smiled. “Quite probably.” He put his keys in his pocket as unthinkingly as if he’d been doing it his whole life. “I was hoping I would see you here.”

“How did you know?”

“I encountered your brother at your hotel,” he said. “He was good enough to share your plans with me.”

She hardly knew what to think of Howard at the moment, but she wasn’t going to start looking a gift horse in the mouth. “I’m going to the castle,” she said, gesturing weakly in that direction. “I’m supposed to work.”

“Might I come along?” he asked. “I’ll keep myself in the background.”

She imagined the background was the last place Phillip de Piaget would ever find himself, but if he wanted to try, she wasn’t going to argue with him. He extended his elbow toward her and smiled.

“Let’s be off. I’ll keep you safe.”

She took his arm because it was impossible to resist a gorgeous medieval knight in jeans who had left a sports car parked in a place that would likely get it towed.

All right, so she might have taken his arm because she thought she might have a few fond feelings for him, fool that she was, but who was quibbling? She walked with him up the way to the castle, watching her feet for the most part. Or, actually, the cobblestones beneath her feet. Who knew how old they were? They looked uncomfortably like the ones she’d walked over with Rose and her guys, so for all she knew she was walking over the same set.

“Odd, isn’t it?”

She looked up at Phillip and smiled. “The street?”

“Aye,” he said, shuddering delicately. “I would like to make a poor jest, but the truth is, I’m not entirely certain I haven’t walked over these stones in a different pair of boots.”

“Spooky.”

“Very,” he agreed.

She continued up the way with him, fought him over paying for their entrance and lost, then continued on past the gift shop.

“This wasn’t here,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Before.”

“I imagine it wasn’t.”

“My father would have gone completely silent by this point.”

“And yet you’re so chatty.”

He smiled. “A constitution to be envied, surely.” He took another deep breath. “I would say that I’m much more adaptable than he is, but now knowing what I know about the secrets he’s held all these years, I’m not sure of anything except that I think I would like to visit the chapel soon.”

“It’s on the map,” she said, pulling her hand away.

He put his hand over hers and kept it there. “I can look. You keep holding me on my feet.” He pulled the map out of his pocket with his free hand, studied it, then paused and looked up. “I’m hearing something.”

She was too and it wasn’t pretty. “Um, about that...”

“It sounds as though something is dying.”

“I believe it’s supposed to be singing.”

He looked at her in disbelief. “How do you know?”

“It’s why I’m here.”

He muttered something in the native tongue. It could have been a curse, but she suspected it was a prayer. She understood.

He nodded up the way. “We’ll press on if we must.”

She didn’t want to have to, but it was her job, and considering who Marcus called Daddy, it was her career.

“You know that, ah, singer?”

“His name is Marcus,” she said reluctantly. “His father is the executive producer on the movie I’m here researching for.” She looked to see if he was still listening. He was watching her intently. “Max Davis has buckets of money and is paying for this movie to be made.”

“And this Marcus thinks to be in this movie?”

“Yes, but that’s sort of the problem, because it’s a musical. You know, a play with singing and dancing.”

He listened for a minute or two then shook his head. “I’m concerned.”

“His father is tone-deaf.”

“So is his father’s son.”

She smiled. “I’ve been trying to tell him that very gently for some time, but he doesn’t believe me. The truth is, he doesn’t know when he’s on key and when he isn’t, so telling him he’s off doesn’t make any difference to him.”

“I don’t think I have the stomach to ruin his dreams,” Phillip said with a heavy sigh. “Surely there is someone else on your movie who can do that goodly work.”

“I’m not sure anyone dares,” she said seriously. “Marcus is sort of a strong personality. He always has to be right.” She paused. “And there’s another thing. He’s very into paranormal investigations.”

Phillip snorted. “Ghosts?”

“That’s just the beginning. If it’s spooky, he’s right there with all his gear to investigate it.”

“He sounds daft,” Phillip said with a smile. “Ghosts? Bogles? They don’t exist. Anyone who believes in any sorts of paranormal... oddities, well, I think they likely have too much time and not enough things to do. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“You know, I almost believed that speech.”

He laughed a little. “I’ll try harder next time,” he promised.

And that was the last thing he was able to say for a bit because they had rounded the corner and come upon the source of the caterwauling. She gulped. Phillip merely paused in his stride, then looked at her. She shrugged and they continued on.

If there was one thing that could be said for Marcus Davis, it was that he was thorough about trying to obtain his desires. She had no idea where he’d gotten the camera crew, but he had a full set going. Lights, cameras, sound, catering: it was all there and being used. If the sound guys were flinching now and then, it was probably because of a chill, not anything that was screeching into their headphones. A large crowd had gathered, which she knew would thrill Marcus to the soles of his rubber-soled, ghost-hunting shoes.

“Imogen, you’re here!”

Imogen pulled her hand away from Phillip’s arm before she thought how he might take it, but he didn’t look offended. He simply stood there, unobtrusive—if that were possible.

Tilly came to an awkward stop in front of her. “Thanks for coming,” she said. “I wasn’t sure you would make it.”

“Well, of course I would make it,” Imogen said. “You texted me, so here I am. Thanks for letting me know about this.”

“Well, he’s your fiancé,” Tilly said, her eyes glued to Phillip. “I thought you should know. I don’t believe we’ve met?”

Imogen watched Phillip take Tilly’s hand and shake it like a good twenty-first-century bloke would have.

“Phillip,” he said easily. “Charmed.”

Tilly looked less charmed than on the verge of a faint. She looked between the two of them for several moments in surprise that gave way to faint suspicion. She settled for looking sternly at Imogen.

“You’re engaged to Marcus,” she said.

Imogen shifted uncomfortably. “That really isn’t settled.”

“Well, he thinks it’s settled, and you know who his father is.”

At the moment, she was wishing she had never heard of Max Davis or any of the movie people he generally associated with. She definitely wished she wasn’t hearing his son bellowing out show tunes at the top of his lungs.

“Oh, it’s Imogen,” he sang out, his voice booming against the stone of the castle. “Come set-dress me, honey!”

Imogen would have cringed, but she didn’t want to draw attention to herself. She also would have hurried over to keep Marcus from belting out any more off-key melodies, but he was too quick for her. It was a wonder any self-respecting ghost stood a chance of escaping him. As he would tell anyone who would listen, he was one fast guy.

He strode over with the aura of a man for whom the world was a stage and he the lead baritone. He stopped in front of her with his hands on his hips and gave Phillip the once-over. He began to frown about ten seconds into it, which she supposed wasn’t a good sign.

“I don’t have time to sign autographs,” he announced.

Phillip only inclined his head. “Don’t let me inconvenience you.”

Marcus looked at him, then grunted. “And don’t count on me for any good words with my dad. I’m too busy preparing myself for my audition.”

“Of course,” Phillip said. “I can hear that.”

Marcus puffed up. “I only do Howard Keel songs. He is the only one who fits my range. It’s almost as if he’d been born for just that reason.”

Phillip made some polite, noncommittal noises, then took a step backward. Imogen started to take a step with him, then realized she was the one who was supposed to be doing some Marcus dressing.

Heaven help her.

She found herself cast in the role not of set dresser but director. The longer the morning wore on, the less she was enjoying anything to do with movies and the more backed into a corner she felt. She glanced around at one point to find Phillip leaning against a bit of stone foundation wall, watching her. She had no idea what his expression meant, but the first chance she had, she left Marcus to his bellowing and eased back to stand beside him.

Phillip leaned closer to her. “I’d like to go somewhere.”

She looked into his stunning gray eyes. “Would it be a place that doesn’t find itself inside Edinburgh castle’s walls?”

He smiled. “I’d like to go home.”

“Haemesburgh?” she asked in astonishment.

He shook his head. “Artane.”

“Oh,” she managed. “Now?”

“My phone says ’tis but a pair of hours on the A1 to reach it.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Perhaps faster in my conveyance.”

“How in the world did you get a license?”

“Magic,” he said dryly. “And I’m under a curse if I don’t deliver Heather’s car back to her unscratched, so you needn’t fear for your life.” He nodded toward the castle entrance. “Shall we?”

“Do you want me to come along?” she asked, surprised.

“Aye, very much,” he said seriously. “You needn’t feel obligated, but I would like you to if you were so inclined.”

“I’d need to pack.”

“I know where your hotel is.”

That was all she needed to hear. She told Tilly where she was going, ignored Tilly’s look of irritation, and forced herself to go tell Marcus how good it would be to have Tilly’s opinion on his audition tape. She ignored Tilly’s murderous look, then looked at Phillip.

“Let’s run.”

He smiled. “That might alert them to our joy at having our peace and quiet back. But a swift walk is definitely in order.”

She walked with him out of the castle and down to where Heather’s car was miraculously still there. That could have been because Heather’s driver was leaning against the door, talking to a skeptical-looking policeman. Maybe he would get the ticket instead of Phillip and his license Heather had probably drawn by hand.

“Did you plan this?” she asked. “This trip to Artane?”

He opened her door for her. “I thought you might enjoy the journey.”

“I’ve been dying to get inside that place.”

“I also thought, modest lad that I am, that you might like to see my home.” He shrugged, looking slightly uncomfortable. “I feel as though I’m a bit of a braggart, but all you’ve seen is Haemesburgh at its worst.”

“Ravensthorpe was nice.”

“Ravensthorpe will not be mine if my father ever decides to, as they say, shuffle off his damned mortal coil.”

She smiled. “I think you love him very much.”

“I’ll love him much more when he’s dead and the contents of his very fine cellar are mine.”

She laughed, because she could tell that was absolutely not the case. “All right, let’s go then and you can show off.”

He smiled. “My ultimate plan, of course.”

She honestly didn’t care what his plan was as long as it meant she didn’t have to spend the day with Marcus or her family. Though she had to admit, the thought of spending a couple of days with Phillip de Piaget was almost too good to be true.

She was tempted to remind herself that it wouldn’t last, but she decided, as that medieval knight cursed his way through city traffic, that maybe she could just take a day or two and let herself believe that all kinds of things were possible. A medieval woman finding happiness in modern Scotland. A medieval knight traveling to the future and driving a sports car.

A wannabe film maker surviving a trip to the Middle Ages, falling hard for a man who was completely out of her league, yet having that same man come find her hundreds of years out of his time.

Impossible things didn’t just happen on the silver screen.

She didn’t want to think about how badly she wanted to believe that.