Hot Summer Knight Read online

  Could she abandon the cats? She didn’t like her chances of booking them into a motel at nine minutes to midnight.

  Clothes, she told herself. That’s the first thing. Running around naked is crazy, inside the house or out.

  She felt disinclined to go back into her room, but her bag was in there, along with her discarded nightshirt, her phone and her purse.

  She ventured back to her door, though that meant turning her back on the dark stairway.

  That was when she heard the sound downstairs.

  Kendra froze. It was unmistakably a footstep, made by a heavy boot that somehow clanked.

  What’shisname? Had he pursued her all the way from Brisbane?

  Hell no, whatever his stalky inclinations, what’shisname didn’t clank. Besides, he had no idea she was here.

  Her terrified mind conjured a prison escapee, complete with leg irons, a pry bar, an orange jumpsuit and a gun.

  She was going to be murdered where she stood.

  She leapt for her room and pulled the door closed. She fumbled for the light switch before recollecting the light wasn’t on. The sound of music, the faint cadence of hoof beats, and the smell of fresh-cut grass spun around her.

  Ear to the door, she listened as the footsteps mounted the stairs. There was nowhere to hide, and the door hadn’t even a bolt. She could fling the curtains open, stick her head out through the sash and scream. She’d call Emergency Services.

  Ghosts! Prison escapee! Whaaaaahh! No... Fire!

  Unable to decide, she backed away from the door and stood stiff by the window, hearing the footsteps reach the top of the stairs and hesitate on the landing. Cravenly, she hoped the intruder, ghost or man, would go into the other room first. With luck, the cats would attack, scare the bejesus out him and send him tearing downstairs with multiple lacerations.

  What did he want? How had he got in? She knew she’d locked the door.

  The doorknob jiggled, paused, and turned.

  The door swung open.

  Kendra uttered a squeal of panic, and dived for the bed, dragged up the green sheet and wrapped it around her naked body. Then she froze again, staring bug-eyed at the apparition in the doorway.

  It was a knight.

  Kendra wanted to rub her eyes, but both hands were occupied in clutching the sheet. She stared at the knight.

  He was possibly thirty, with long flaxen hair, finely cut features and hazel eyes. He was so tall she glanced at his feet in case he wore high boots, but she couldn’t tell, for his footwear was masked by curved metal uppers. Metal embraced his legs, disappearing under fine chainmail and a white coat bearing a green crest. A surcoat? She couldn’t remember. She was a researcher, but medieval armour was not her speciality.

  He carried a helmet in one hand, but not a heavy iron-grill, beaked affair. It was more of a hammered metal skullcap, decorated with curlicues.

  A knight. Right.

  A knight with curlicues.

  A ghost?

  The gauntleted hand holding the helmet looked solid. If anything haunted a Victorian terrace house in Sydney, it would not be a medieval knight with curlicues. Probably not a prisoner, either, since the clanking came from the armour rather than the imagined leg irons.

  The knight stared at her.

  Kendra stared back. “What?” she demanded. It wasn’t what she meant to say.

  “I crave thy pardon, my lady.” His voice was a pleasant tenor, with an accent she couldn’t place. English, sort of, but there was some musical quality underlying it. He stared some more, and Kendra hitched the sheet up to her armpits. “Didst not mean to intrude upon thy toilet.”

  “I wasn’t on the toilet.” Thank the lord.

  “Thy—” He waved his free hand at her attire.

  Belatedly, Kendra remembered the other meaning of the word toilet. To her it was a loo, but it used to mean getting dressed and spruced up.

  Diving into a sheet didn’t qualify.

  “Who are you? What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I am Sir Piers, knight of the Summer Court. As for my purpose, I am unsure.” He frowned. “I had hoped thou might tell me.”

  “How should I know?” she snapped. This was surreal. The intruder was odd, and deranged, but he did not seem dangerous. He exuded chivalry and his eyes were warm and kind. As far as she could see he was unarmed, and if it came down to it she backed herself to get downstairs and out the door before he could, burdened as he was with that ridiculous costume.

  Before she could get downstairs, she had to get him away from the door.

  “How shouldst thou not know?” he asked. “Surely thou didst call me?”

  “Give me a break,” said Kendra. “I didn’t call you. I don’t even live here. I’m the pet-sitter.”

  He smiled politely, but she saw he had no idea what she meant.

  “I’m Frances’s cousin,” she clarified. “You know Frances? This is her house. How did you get in here?”

  “Canst thou not tell me?”

  “No, I canst! I told you, I’m the pet-sitter.”

  “But surely ’twas thou who called me hence?”

  Creepy. He was stuck in a groove. Stalker, much? Kendra would have taken a step back had she not already been backed against the window.

  “I didn’t call anyone,” she said, “but something weird is going on. Why is it so hot in here? What’s with the light? And the smell? And the music?”

  “It lacketh but moments to midsummer, when shalt be fully manifest,” he said.

  “Not even close,” said Kendra. “It’s the middle of June.”

  “What is that but midsummer? The court assemblest, the ladies give favour to their chosen knights, and all is merry.”

  “It’s winter,” said Kendra. “December to February is summer. At least...” She pursed her lips. “You’re a Brit, right? English or Welsh or something? So, June is summer where you come from. You’re on the other side of the world now, so it’s winter. At least,” she added, feeling perspiration slick on her sides, “it’s supposed to be. Climate change is a pain in the butt, but this is so not climate change.”

  The knight considered her. His eyes were thoughtful, and as she watched something dawned in them. He drew a breath that was visible even under the chainmail and surcoat, and closed his eyes, swaying a bit on his feet. He reached out with the hand holding the helmet, evidently seeking somewhere to put it.

  Kendra, eyeing him with doubt, edged forward and took the helmet. It was light, and beautifully wrought. She set it down on the floor and then straightened with care, still clutching the sheet. “What is it?” she asked. “What did you just remember?”

  His eyes snapped open. “You called me.”

  “No. Who told you I called you?” What the hell?

  He shook his head and made an impatient gesture. “Who are you?”

  More to the point, who are YOU? There seemed no harm in telling him her first name, so she did. “I’m Kendra. I told you, I’m Frances’s cousin. I’m pet-sitting her cats while she’s away with Niall.”

  He blinked, and she had the impression he was concentrating hard, trying to focus. “Niall.” He looked down at his hands, frowned, and stripped off the gauntlets, which he dropped beside the helmet.

  “You know Niall?” Something tweaked her mind and she snapped her fingers, almost losing the sheet. “You’re a Brit. Are you Niall Le Fay’s cousin?”

  “We are kinsmen in some degree.”

  “Then you’re the medieval history teacher,” said Kendra. “I suppose that accounts for the costume and the act. You look a bit off the planet though and you’re totally in the wrong place to meet Frances and Niall. They left hours ago to meet you. What’s up? Jetlag?”

  He took off the surcoat, folded it and draped it over the helmet and gloves. “It must be.” He sounded almost normal and it seemed his face blurred, just for a second.

  “If you’re Niall’s co
usin, you’re in the wrong place,” said Kendra again, blinking. “Call Niall and sort it out with him.”

  He took a few steps away from the door and sat on the bed, bending to remove his leg armour (Kendra couldn’t remember the proper term).

  “Hey!” she said. “You can’t get undressed in here!”

  He looked up, and shook his head rapidly as if to clear it. “I have to,” he said.

  He stacked the two pieces of leg armour (greves?) on the floor by the bed.

  “Call Niall!” insisted Kendra. She grabbed her phone and thrust it at him.

  He took it and stared as if at a foreign artefact.

  “Well go on... hit the numbers.”

  His eyes focused and he keyed in a couple of numbers, then paused. He shook his head and held the phone out to Kendra.

  “Oh, for—look, I don’t know Niall’s number, but I’ll call Frances.”

  She cleared the screen and hit Frances’s name on her call list. The phone rang several times and then Frances came on the line. She sounded sleepy.

  “Kendie? Is—” She yawned. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes. No. Is Niall there?” Stupid question. “Can you put him on?”

  “I’ll wake him up.” Frances sounded puzzled. Blurred noises ensued, and then Niall’s voice, a clear tenor like his cousin’s, said, “Hello?”

  “Niall, this is Kendra.”

  “What’s up? Cats giving you grief? Plumbing burst?”

  “There’s a man in my room.”

  “Um... TMI?” he said.

  “I didn’t invite him. He just—came. And it’s hot. The room’s all sunny.” God, now she sounded hysterical. “I’m not crazy, but I think he is. He’s taking off his armour. Will you—”

  A burst of laughter startled her, even as her unwanted visitor lifted off the chainmail and peeled away the padded vest and linen shirt underneath.

  “No!” she squealed. “Niall! Stop laughing, you git! Help!”

  “Sorry.” He choked down his chuckles. “God, you poor girl. We wondered where he’d got to, and he’s not answering his phone.”

  He has a phone?

  “I think he’s your cousin. Sir Piers. Do something. Talk to him.”

  “I’ll try,” said Niall. “Put me on speaker.”

  Kendra obeyed, then stood with the phone extended.

  “Piers?” said Niall’s voice. “Are you in there, Prof?”

  The knight, now down to (oh lord) linen drawers, looked uncertainly at the phone. “What witchery is this?”

  “Piers. Prof! Focus!”

  The knight looked uncomprehending.

  “He’s not responding,” snapped Kendra. “What can I do? Is he dangerous? Should I call the cops?”

  “I’d rather you didn’t,” said Niall. His voice shook with swallowed laughter. “It’s not good for the family rep to have one of us run in wearing armour.”

  “Explain!” yelped Kendra. “Is he dangerous?”

  “Not unless he has a sword on him,” said Niall. “Has he?”

  “No... except... um.” Except the one in his pants. “No, don’t do that!” The knight had hitched his thumbs in the waistband of the drawers. “What the hell’s going on? He’s taking his pants off!”

  “Listen,” said Niall, and she had the impression he’d stopped finding it funny. “This is going to be a stretch but did Frances tell you how she and I met?”

  “She said she bought you for a fiver,” said Kendra. “What are you—rent-a-dick?”

  “As if I would!” said Frances’s voice indignantly. “I paid a fiver, but he was a fairy doll at the time, on sale or return.”

  “And I suppose you’re Cat Mahal the ethical witch.”

  “I did say you wouldn’t understand. Explain to her, Niall.”

  “I’m a fairy,” said Niall in a calm tone. “Variety; Christmas Elf.”

  “For fuck’s sake! Be serious.”

  “He is,” said Frances’s voice.

  Niall continued. “There aren’t many of us fairies in this country, and some of us don’t manifest often, if at all. Around Christmas, I’m more elfish than usual and my magic is heightened. Last Christmas I met Frances, who has left-hand magic of her own.”

  “She has what?”

  “Never mind that now. She made a wish and I liked her, so I offered her—”

  “An introductory fuck,” put in Frances. “I liked it so I kept him on instead of taking the money-back option. Okay? Niall’s a fairy and Piers is his cousin.”

  “Hurry it up. He’s getting naked.”

  “As long as you’re not,” said Frances. “If he’s like Niall he won’t push the issue but if he’s up for it I really, really suggest you take him on.”

  “I’m wearing a sheet. Are you saying this knight is a frickin’ fairy? I can’t believe I just said that.”

  “He’s a fairy too,” confirmed Niall.

  “A Christmas Elf? It’s not Christmas! He’s no bloody elf. He hasn’t got the ears for it.”

  “No, he’s a Midsummer Knight—a fairy knight of the Summer Court. I never thought—it never occurred to us he’d manifest here. It’s winter, after all. Look, how far gone is he?”

  “Naked gone.”

  “Is he up for it?” asked Frances.

  “Something sure is.”

  “Ooh! Sounds yummy.”

  “Control yourself, Frances,” said Niall. “Listen, Kendra... you might still have a chance to get through to his usual self. He’s a long way from home, and it’s winter. Talk to him. Remind him what he is for most of the year.”

  “What is he?”

  “A senior lecturer in medieval history.”

  “But he’s only about thirty!”

  “He’s a prodigy.” Niall paused. “He won’t hurt you. Not ever. He’s a good bloke and besides... knights are all about chivalry. If you really can’t hack it, you can—”

  “Call the cops? Go to a motel?”

  “Those are options, but not the best ones. If you can’t jolt him out of it, tell him to get out, that he’s not welcome, that he’s not worthy... any of those will do. No knight will burden a lady with his presence if she’s unwilling. Crush his spirit... if you must.”

  “Or you could always just go along with him,” put in Frances. “If he’s half the man Niall is... bliss won’t be the word. C’mon, Kendie, go for it! He’s guaranteed clean; bugs don’t live in fairies and they never get sick.”

  “Frances! He’s deranged.”

  “It’s not derangement. It’s just a... a cultural variation. What have you got to lose?”

  My sanity!

  “Can’t you come and take him away?” bleated Kendra.

  “We’re twelve hours from home,” said Niall. “Remember your failsafe. If you can’t get through to the Prof, tell Sir Piers he’s not worthy of your favour. He’ll be crushed, but he’ll go.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know, but he’ll go. That’s the extreme option though.”

  “Good luck,” said Frances.

  The call ended.

  Kendra, whose gaze hadn’t left the naked knight, put the phone down. He looked at her with sad eyes and folded his hands in his now less-than-ready lap.

  “Canst not find it in thy heart to forgive mine error?” he said.

  “Which error might that be?” she asked, giving her sarcasm free rein. She ticked the errors off with her fingers, using her elbows to support the sheet. “Breaking into the house, scaring the fuck out of the cats, shoving into my room, super-heating my bedroom, or taking off your clothes without invitation?”

  He looked down at his feet. They were shapely feet, high-arched. And that wasn’t all. Every part of him (and she had seen just about every part of him) was finely made. He was no muscle-bound hero type, but firm and toned, with a runner’s physique. She associated academics with rounded shoulders and nervous beards that grew under
their necks, but he was broad-shouldered and clean-shaven. He smelled amazing, sweet and fresh as a summer morning.

  He seemed unconcerned about being naked, but Kendra tried to keep her gaze on his face. She wanted to disbelieve everything Niall and Frances said, but it made a mad kind of sense. Not only was the knight here, with his armour and accoutrements neatly disposed in piles, but there was the hot sunshine, the smells and the sounds.

  They were the sunshine, smells and sounds traditionally associated with summer and she could not see how they could be faked.

  “Who are you really?” she asked in a gentler tone.

  “I am called Sir Piers, Knight of the Midsummer Court.”

  “Yes, that’s you now, but who are you usually? Piers what? Mister? Doctor? Professor?” She looked him in the eye. “Niall says you are a lecturer... a teacher. Can I speak to that person?”

  “Gentle lady, I canst—”

  “No! Call me Kendra. I’m a freelance research assistant. I’m not a gentle lady. Now, let me speak to Professor or Mister or Doctor Piers. Piers what, anyway? Le Fay, like Niall?”

  He nodded absently, his face blurring again. “Piers Le Fay.” His voice was the same but his accent more clipped, more ordinary.

  “That’s a start. Niall and Frances said you’re here from England to work. You were supposed to meet them at a festival. You came here instead. How? Why?”

  “Thou—”

  “You!” she corrected.

  He frowned, concentrating. “You called me here, my... I mean, Kendra.”

  “I didn’t call you.”

  “Canst... I cannot...”

  “Can’t,” prompted Kendra.

  “Thank thee—you, my—Kendra. I can’t put it any other way.” He spaced the words as he spoke.

  “Is this to do with you being a Midsummer Knight?”

  “Yes. For this night I am not—”

  “Not yourself?” she suggested.

  He smiled, his long gold-tipped eyelashes sweeping down and his mouth turning up. Kendra had to look away. She was aware he was good-looking, but in that smile she saw the same magnetism Niall had for Frances. He was the most gorgeous guy she’d ever seen.