Free The Guardian (Chronicles of Dover's Amalgam Book 1) by Elizabetta Holcomb Page A

will not be disturbed and I will not be on display, perhaps?”
    Even while she was sparring with him, she felt protective. “We can go to the barn,” she suggested. Far from the kitchen window where Grandma would be stationed while she watched her afternoon television. Her eyes trailed to where her thoughts were. It would not be good if Grandma became suspicious. There was still the lie she had told when she claimed she had run away. Grandma would be suspicious of a man-boy wearing weird clothing. “I can leave the doors open so it won’t offend your lordly nostrils.” Elizabet motioned for him to follow, and then hooked her thumbs into the belt loop of her jeans as she led the way. There was no sense in delaying and staying out in the open.
    “I do own livestock,” Jareth said. “My lordly nostrils are accustomed to putrid odors. I live in the medieval age. Normally, there is no plumbing and animals are housed in close proximity to living quarters.”
    She looked over her shoulder, and for a brief second her heart plummeted into her stomach at the sight of him following. “I love the middle ages.” She rolled her shoulders as she looked ahead again and shook her head slightly. “Well, studying about it, at least. It wasn’t so great playing doctor while I was there, though. I could’ve done without that part. I can’t tell you how many times I wished I’d studied anatomy instead of vet science.”
    “You did remarkably well given the circumstances.”
    Elizabet tripped over thick thatch of dry grass and teetered to the side. Jareth reached out and steadied her, placing his hands on her hips to right her on the uneven levy.
    “Don’t touch me,” she said immediately. She pulled away by stepping forward. Her slick boots caught in another slippery thatch of grass and she slid, but righted herself even as he went to help her. She batted his hands away. “I don’t need your help.”
    Jareth’s hands balled into fists as he drew back. He changed the subject. “What do you know of medieval England?”
    Elizabet patted down her hips where he touched her, then skimmed her hands down her sides before she crossed her arms over her mid-section in a slight embrace. “My mom was a history teacher. She used to read me her old college textbooks.” Her heart ached as she remembered her mother. She did not like speaking of her in past tense. Some things never got any easier. Losing a parent was one of those things. She motioned for him to follow before she began walking again—cautiously.
    It was sweet the way he gave her an out. She had reacted badly when he merely helped her not to fall into the muddy waters of the crawfish pond. An awkward silence hung in the air as they walked up the three acres of levies to reach the barnyard. It was a good distance to cover in self-conscious quiet. She was thankful to come to the barn.
    “I hope you weren’t trying to make me feel better by saying your nose wasn’t sensitive, because two of our hogs just gave birth.” Her nose crinkled as she reached for the lever that held the door closed.
    “May I?” Jareth stepped up to her side. He motioned to the door, one black eyebrow climbing up. It looked like a difficult task—to have only one eyebrow nearly disappear into his hairline. He did it often and she imagined it went with being an arrogant, overbearing lord of the manor. His vassals probably cowered in fear when that haughty eyebrow went north.
    “Sure,” she said, and her hand fell away from the lever. She stepped back. “Be my guest.” So, he wanted to be a gentleman and prove that he would not be offended by barn smells. She almost roared with laughter as the smell hit him, but instead settled for a curt cough that resembled a cackle as she swept past him as he held the door.

Chapter 5
    IT HAD BEEN hard not to show his shock at having found her working like a serf. Seeing her toil over the land and repairing large machinery disturbed him. She would be his