as fast as she went down, she jumped back up. Saints, her poor cheeks were blazing.
"What is wrong with you?" she asked, smoothing her tunic. "You'd rather let me fall on my face than reach out a hand to help me?" Turning, she made for the door. "I've got notes to log, tea with Miss Kate, and a busy day tomorrow. Bones to collect. Thanks for the information."
He could do nothing, save let her storm from his solar.
For the life, or unlife, of him, he couldn't recall ever feeling more like an idiot.
Chapter Seven
Andi fumed as she stomped back to her room. How humiliating. Not only did the big oaf fling himself away from danger as she plummeted toward him before she smacked into the floor, but he didn't even bother to apologize. Didn't even extend a hand to help her up—not that she needed it.
Didn't even try to stop her when she left his solar.
She was exasperated with herself. Why was she trying to make friends with a stuffy English lord who apparently thought a little too much of himself? Twice, he'd pulled away from touching her, horror written all over his face, as though the thought of his royal hide scraping skin with a lowly, pock-marred serf such as herself sickened him. As if she'd actually let him touch her. Please. The man was gorgeous. She was aching for him to touch her. Actually, she'd wanted him to kiss her.
Badly.
As if that would ever happen.
Moments later, Andi greeted Heath's grandmother, Miss Kate, as everyone called her, in the great hall for tea.
Kate MacDougall, an attractive Scottish woman in her early sixties with straight, shoulder-length gray hair she wore neatly pulled together at the nape of her neck, rose from her chair and smiled.
"Afternoon, Dr. Monroe. I hope you don't mind Heath here playing by the hearth while we chat. He fancies lying about in the great hall." She grinned at her grandson, whose missing-tooth smile beamed back. "The lad likes to pretend he's lord of Dreadmoor."
Andi grinned at the boy. "I don't mind a bit."
Jameson bustled into the hall, carrying a tray laden with fresh-baked cookies, a large, steaming pot of tea, cream, sugar, and four cups, spoons, four small plates, and a silver set of tongs. He placed the tray on a solid oak table situated between the chairs, and glanced at Miss Kate. "You're looking quite well this afternoon. Tea?" His cheeks reddened.
Not surprisingly, Kate's blushed, as well, and she giggled. "Thank you, Edgar. I'd love some."
Andi nearly choked as she stifled a laugh. Edgar?
Jameson shot Andi a look, then hurried through the filling of all cups. Heath joined them, and everyone set about with sugar, cream, and cookies, which were beyond heavenly.
After a few moments of idle chatting, Andi spoke to Kate. "Can you tell me anything of the legend?"
Kate, Heath, and Jameson shared a look, and then Kate smiled. "I was born in the Dark Isles of the Highlands, lass, and I've heard stories ever since I was a wee girl." She set down her plate of cookies and wiped her mouth with a napkin. "What do you know so far?"
"Well," Andi started, "I've been told Dragonhawk and his knights disappeared after returning from a wedding celebration. No bodies, no armor—and that witchcraft could have been involved."
Kate nodded. "All hearsay, mind you, but 'tis the same story. No one knows why, or how so many fierce men could have been subdued. Their families never heard from them again—so the legend goes."
Heath chimed in. "I heard from me best mate at school that fairies came and took them back to their hollows underground." His face screwed up. "But that sounds like it was made up by a girl. No way would the Dragonhawk be taken by a fairy!"
Andi smiled. "I wholeheartedly agree."
"A witch, perhaps?" Kate said. " 'Twas a lot of evil in those days, and witchery wasn't uncommon."
Andi shrugged. "Even if witchcraft were involved, that wouldn't explain why there were no bodies."
Kate leaned forward. "Witchery can be a powerful evil, lass. Don't dismiss
"What is wrong with you?" she asked, smoothing her tunic. "You'd rather let me fall on my face than reach out a hand to help me?" Turning, she made for the door. "I've got notes to log, tea with Miss Kate, and a busy day tomorrow. Bones to collect. Thanks for the information."
He could do nothing, save let her storm from his solar.
For the life, or unlife, of him, he couldn't recall ever feeling more like an idiot.
Chapter Seven
Andi fumed as she stomped back to her room. How humiliating. Not only did the big oaf fling himself away from danger as she plummeted toward him before she smacked into the floor, but he didn't even bother to apologize. Didn't even extend a hand to help her up—not that she needed it.
Didn't even try to stop her when she left his solar.
She was exasperated with herself. Why was she trying to make friends with a stuffy English lord who apparently thought a little too much of himself? Twice, he'd pulled away from touching her, horror written all over his face, as though the thought of his royal hide scraping skin with a lowly, pock-marred serf such as herself sickened him. As if she'd actually let him touch her. Please. The man was gorgeous. She was aching for him to touch her. Actually, she'd wanted him to kiss her.
Badly.
As if that would ever happen.
Moments later, Andi greeted Heath's grandmother, Miss Kate, as everyone called her, in the great hall for tea.
Kate MacDougall, an attractive Scottish woman in her early sixties with straight, shoulder-length gray hair she wore neatly pulled together at the nape of her neck, rose from her chair and smiled.
"Afternoon, Dr. Monroe. I hope you don't mind Heath here playing by the hearth while we chat. He fancies lying about in the great hall." She grinned at her grandson, whose missing-tooth smile beamed back. "The lad likes to pretend he's lord of Dreadmoor."
Andi grinned at the boy. "I don't mind a bit."
Jameson bustled into the hall, carrying a tray laden with fresh-baked cookies, a large, steaming pot of tea, cream, sugar, and four cups, spoons, four small plates, and a silver set of tongs. He placed the tray on a solid oak table situated between the chairs, and glanced at Miss Kate. "You're looking quite well this afternoon. Tea?" His cheeks reddened.
Not surprisingly, Kate's blushed, as well, and she giggled. "Thank you, Edgar. I'd love some."
Andi nearly choked as she stifled a laugh. Edgar?
Jameson shot Andi a look, then hurried through the filling of all cups. Heath joined them, and everyone set about with sugar, cream, and cookies, which were beyond heavenly.
After a few moments of idle chatting, Andi spoke to Kate. "Can you tell me anything of the legend?"
Kate, Heath, and Jameson shared a look, and then Kate smiled. "I was born in the Dark Isles of the Highlands, lass, and I've heard stories ever since I was a wee girl." She set down her plate of cookies and wiped her mouth with a napkin. "What do you know so far?"
"Well," Andi started, "I've been told Dragonhawk and his knights disappeared after returning from a wedding celebration. No bodies, no armor—and that witchcraft could have been involved."
Kate nodded. "All hearsay, mind you, but 'tis the same story. No one knows why, or how so many fierce men could have been subdued. Their families never heard from them again—so the legend goes."
Heath chimed in. "I heard from me best mate at school that fairies came and took them back to their hollows underground." His face screwed up. "But that sounds like it was made up by a girl. No way would the Dragonhawk be taken by a fairy!"
Andi smiled. "I wholeheartedly agree."
"A witch, perhaps?" Kate said. " 'Twas a lot of evil in those days, and witchery wasn't uncommon."
Andi shrugged. "Even if witchcraft were involved, that wouldn't explain why there were no bodies."
Kate leaned forward. "Witchery can be a powerful evil, lass. Don't dismiss
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