One Magic Moment by Lynn Kurland Page A

most of that time, partly because he wasn’t unaccustomed to practicing for longer than that, but mostly because it seemed to distract the would-be royals who seemed to think themselves very important indeed. He was quite happy to see the last of them.
    He continued to toy with a tune until Tess finally collapsed in the chair opposite him. He looked up to find her watching him. He only lifted an eyebrow in question.
    She let out a deep breath. “I’m not sure how to thank you,” she said, with feeling. “I will pay you—”
    “No.”
    She hesitated, then nodded slowly.
    He played for a bit longer, then looked at her again. “Will the girls clean up?”
    “They already have. They’re gone. As are our guests, thankfully.”
    He considered her for a moment or two. “Why do you tolerate this sort of thing?”
    “Because they’re very rich,” she said with a sigh, “and minor nobility. I needed to make a good impression.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Didn’t you recognize them?”
    “I couldn’t be bothered.”
    She smiled faintly. “I wish I could say the same, but I like to at least maintain some façade of graciousness, not having the luxury of telling them to take a flying leap. It keeps the lights on.”
    He imagined it did. He stood and put his lute into her hands. “Hold that.”
    “Where are you going?” she asked in surprise.
    “To lock up.”
    “There are lots of doors.”
    “I imagine there are,” he said dryly. “I think I can find the important ones.”
    He had to admit, as he started in the kitchens and worked his way up and back to the rear guard tower, that it was very strange to think of her all alone in such a place. On those very rare occasions when his father had left his mother at home alone, she had been protected by no less than two dozen very grim warriors with exceptionally sharp swords. She could have easily slept with her door unbolted and not spared a thought for her safety.
    It bothered him that Tess didn’t have that same sort of security system.
    It bothered him even more that he now knew enough about her to have that even cross his mind.
    He returned to the fire to find her plucking thoughtfully at his lute. She looked up and smiled wearily.
    “It’s a lovely instrument.”
    “It is,” he agreed, sitting down across from her. “Do you play?”
    “Very poorly,” she admitted. She handed it back to him. “I would never play in front of you.”
    “I’m no critic.”
    “Still, no.”
    He shrugged, toyed with a melody or two for a moment or two, then looked at her. “I don’t like it that you’re alone here.”
    “I’m used to it.”
    He pursed his lips, then decided the very least he could do was sing for her. One song. It couldn’t hurt.
    He didn’t watch her whilst he was about it, though he could feel her watching him. And he decided at that moment that the whole evening had been a very bad idea indeed. It had been useful to her, hopefully, but it had done nothing for him but convince him that what he should do was get away from her as quickly as possible.
    He finished his song, then packed up his gear without delay. She walked him to the door without comment.
    He walked outside, then turned on the top step and looked at her. “You bother me,” he said bluntly.
    She only watched him, silent and grave.
    “I don’t think we should see each other again,” he added.
    “I think you’re right.”
    He chewed on his words for a moment or two, a novel enough occurrence that it should have given him pause. “You might still bring your car to my shop, if you like,” he conceded.
    “I’ll come when you’re not there.”
    He nodded. “Wise.”
    “I think so, too.”
    He shot her a look. “Lock the door, Tess.”
    “I will.”
    “Good night.”
    “Thank you, John,” she said, very quietly.
    He shrugged aside her thanks, because he could do nothing else. He nodded briskly, then turned and walked down the steps. He heard the hall door close and supposed