A Knight in Central Park(56)

Garrett appeared uninterested in her return as he whittled a piece of wood. Her brother’s hair looked like a bird’s nest after a storm, his tunic dark with dirt and soot.

Rebecca left Susan’s side, ran to Alexandra, and held tightly to her legs.

Alexandra frowned. “Susan, what is going on here?”

Susan’s nose was red as if she’d been crying. “I tried to stop Garrett from following you and the Black Knight, but he would not take heed.” She spread her arms wide. “Verily I could not let my only brother go off into the wilderness alone, could I?”

“So you thought it best to bring Rebecca along, too?”

“Rebecca is my shadow. She knew what I was up to. She would have woken the dead with her crying had I tried to leave her behind. What was I to do?”

Alexandra grimaced as she moved toward Garrett, her little sister still wrapped about her legs. Her brother’s face was stained dark and his nutmeg colored hair stuck out like a porcupine. “What in God’s name has happened to you?”

“He wished to blend in with the night,” Susan answered for him. “In fact, he blended so well I could hardly keep an eye on him after the sun went down.”

“Go and wash yourself,” Joe said, surprising everyone with his sudden demand. “Now,” he repeated. “Before you scare your little sister.”

“You cannot tell me what to do,” Garrett said, straightening to his full height. “And the only person my appearance might frighten would be a milk-livered idle-headed sheep like you.”

Alexandra paled. “Garrett! That is enough. What is wrong with you?” She unhooked Rebecca’s arms from around her legs so she could usher her brother away from Sir Joe.

“I do not trust that man,” Garrett told her. “He is a clod-headed, onion-breathing old man.”

“That kid should be muzzled,” Joe said as he grabbed hold of his briefcase and took a seat on a fallen tree branch.

Alexandra did her best to keep Garrett quiet as she gathered a tin of soap and a cloth for Garrett to bathe with. She saw Rebecca move closer to Sir Joe, inch by inch, mesmerized by the eyeglasses he slid over his nose, and then by what he was doing as he scribbled notes onto his stack of parchment. His leather satchel lay open at his feet and Rebecca kept glancing at its contents until finally she reached down and pulled out a small container. Sir Joe swept the object from her small hand, explaining modern medicine and how she was not to go through his things. Then he turned back to his writing, ignoring Rebecca as he wrote.

One minute he was serious, then charming, then aloof.

How was it that Sir Joe could appear suddenly so distant and unaffected by their kiss in the lake? ’Twas almost as if the peaceful moment had never been. She shoved the tin Garrett’s way. “Wash yourself.”

Alexandra felt her ire rising as she glanced about, noting that the children had eaten the meal she’d prepared earlier. “I will start dinner,” she announced. “And then we will set up camp for the night.”

“And first thing in the morning,” Joe said, looking up from his parchment and over the rims of his eyeglasses, “we will return the little ones to the village.”

“I am afraid there is not enough time,” Alexandra said.

“We’ll have to make time.”

“Nay. We must stay on schedule. We have already taken too long to get this far. I kept the pace slow in hopes of giving you time to adjust.”

His thick brows shot upward. “I didn’t need time to adjust. Talk to Precious if you have a problem with the pacing.”

Alexandra gestured toward the horses. “I do not recall Precious lollygagging all day in the lake.”

Giggles erupted from the children.

“It certainly appeared to me that you were enjoying your swim as well,” Sir Joe noted with a smile.

“’Twas not bad,” Alexandra said in a measured tone, feeling angrier than warranted, determined not to let him get the best of her, “but I fair say I have had better.”

“Is that so?”

“Aye,” she said curtly. “’Tis so.”

“What about them?” He gestured toward the children. “If you think I’m going to travel for the next few weeks with a bunch of kids then you’re—”

Her eyes pierced his, daring him to continue.

“—nuttier than a fruitcake.” He threw his papers to the side. “I’m not doing it. Kids drive me nuts. They give me hives. I’m practically allergic to them. Sorry,” he added, glancing Susan’s way, “nothing against you personally, it’s just the way it is. I didn’t ask to come here. It was your sister’s idea.”