The Highlander's Bargain (6 page)

“We have a bathing room in our keep at Loch Moigh, but no’ yet in Castle Inverness or at Meikle Geddes, which is where my parents make their home.”

“Wow.” She opened the door to her bathroom, glad she’d taken the time to clean on Friday. “That’s a lot of real estate.”

“Real estate?” His gaze roamed around the room, his eyes widening when they lit on the toilet. “Och, you . . . uh . . . you
bathe
in the same room where . . .” Color crept up his neck to fill his cheeks.

She chuckled. “Watch, Robley.” Erin took a square of Charmin and dropped it into the toilet. He moved closer.

“There is water inside?”

“Yes. When you’re done, you push this lever.” She flushed.

“’Tis a wonder, for certes.” He continued to watch as the porcelain bowl refilled.

Lifting the seat, she shot him a pointed look. “This gets lifted when you pee. Men in our time
always
put the seat back down when they’re done. Got it?”

“Pee. Lift seat. Done. Put seat back down. Got it,” he repeated. One side of his mouth quirked up, and a dimple appeared. His eyes filled with humor.

Her heart rate surged. He was onto her. Did fifteenth-century bathrooms have seats?
Garderobes.
That’s what they were called back then. Did fifteenth-century women scold their men for leaving the seat up? Could this be any more awkward?

“Moving on, this is the tub and shower for bathing.” She turned to the old claw-foot bathtub, which she loved. A shower had been added, with the plastic curtain going all the way around the perimeter. “Here’s how it works.” She showed him how to adjust the temperature and switch from tub to shower.

“Where does the hot water come from, lass?” His tone was filled with wonder.

“The water heaters are in the basement along with the boiler to heat the building.” She patted the radiator against the wall. “This radiates warmth when it’s cold outside. I’ll take you to the basement at some point, but not now. Aren’t you hungry?”

“I am, but no’ all that eager to depart once again.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I fear I’ve no energy left.”

“Oh. Right. I didn’t think of that. Sorry.” Another dollop of guilt plopped onto her pile. “You’ve been through a lot in one day. I’ll have pizza delivered. We can relax and watch TV while we’re waiting.” She grinned. “I even have a six-pack in the fridge.”

“Six-pack in the fridge,” he mumbled. “You do ken I understand but a small portion of what you say, lass. Aye?”

On impulse, she reached for his hand. The contact sent all kinds of exciting fluttery sensations whizzing through her. She tried to ignore them. “Come on.” She tugged. “I’ll show you what a six-pack in the fridge means.” He tugged back.

“I’ll join you anon.” His face colored up again. “I need to . . . ah . . .”

“Use the bathroom? Toilet, facilities, bathroom or restroom. That’s what we call this.” She whirled her hand to encompass the room, which grew smaller by the second.
Uncomfortable moment.
She pointed to the roll of toilet paper and released his hand. “For your comfort, convenience and personal cleanliness,” she practically chirped. Wow. Charmin ought to hire her to do their ads. “Remember to put the seat back down.” Entirely embarrassed, she backpedaled her way into the hall and turned to head for the kitchen. “And close the door!”

Oh no. You did not just say that!
She heard his muffled chuckle as he shut the door. Thank goodness the man had a sense of humor. She made her way back to the kitchen and grabbed the refrigerator magnet with the phone number of her favorite pizza delivery place. Moving to the counter, she took the cordless phone from its jack. Once she’d placed the order for an extra-large, thin-crust deluxe combination pizza, she settled herself on the living room couch and turned on the TV.

Thank goodness she hadn’t cancelled her cable service yet. She channel surfed, selected an action movie scheduled to begin in fifteen minutes, and ordered it on pay-per-view. Her nerves were all over the place, driving her crazy with a butterfly rampage and self-consciousness. Why did she feel like she was on a first date? She and Robley were not dating. He was her tenant.

It wasn’t long before she became super aware of him as he opened and closed drawers in his room. She should get clean sheets and make the bed for him, but just the thought of being in his bedroom together sent her pulse surging again. Later. She’d go make the bed while he watched TV.

Robley strolled into the living room wearing a pair of jeans that emphasized his narrow hips and muscled thighs. His navy-blue V-neck T-shirt stretched across his sculpted pecs, and without the billowing shirt he’d worn earlier, his biceps put on quite a show. It was all she could do to keep from drooling. “Those clothes look good on you.”

What an understatement! She’d gone for a casual, indifferent tone, but even she could hear the
Oh-my-I-so-want-to-jump-your-bones
undercurrent.
If only she could tear her eyes away from him. She swallowed a few times. He shot her a high-wattage full-on dimpled grin, and her lungs stopped working—and then she drooled.

“Pizza should be here soon,” she managed to squeak out before shooting off the couch. “Come and see what a six-pack in the fridge means.” She’d love to see
his
six-pack. Surely he had one hidden under that sexy cotton T-shirt.

Her cheeks burned, and her blood sizzled. She hadn’t seen him in jeans while they were at Target. Estimating his size, she’d handed him a bunch to try on, instructing him to keep what worked. He’d disappeared into the dressing room and came back out in his kilt with a pile of denim draped over his arm. She opened the refrigerator door, took a step back and bumped right into him. “Argh.”

“What vexes you, lass?” He leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“Nothing. I’m not at all vexed.” She reached in and grabbed a couple bottles of beer. “A six-pack refers to packaging.” She handed him a bottle and twisted the top off of hers. “Six bottles of beer in one carrier, and the fridge is how we keep our food from spoiling.” She moved out of the way so he could take a closer look. Gripping the cold bottle, she took a long, fortifying swallow of her Leinenkugel.

He reached in to touch a few things. “’Tis a marvel. Where is the ice that keeps it cold?”

“There isn’t any, except for the ice it makes in the freezer. It’s all done with electricity and coolant. Freon.” She reached over his head to open the freezer. “Check this out.”

Straightening, he reached into the freezer compartment and pulled out a bag of frozen peas. “Humph.” His brow shot up.

“I don’t have to be at school until ten tomorrow morning. I’ll show you how to use the range top, oven and microwave before I leave. And the phone. Don’t let me forget to show you how to use the phone.” Her doorbell buzzed. “Pizza’s here.” She set her beer on the counter, grabbed her wallet out of her purse and dashed for the door. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

Get a grip!
Never in her life had she reacted to a man the way she did to Robley of clan MacKintosh. How embarrassing. She was twenty-five years old, not fifteen. She made her way to the front door of her building, paid the pizza guy and started back to her apartment. Maybe she would jump his bones, get it out of her system, and then she’d calm down. After all, he’d be heading back to his place and time in a short while.

She huffed out a breath.
Sure, ’cause you’re such a seductress. Not.
Walking back into her place, she found him watching the action movie she’d chosen. He glanced at her, and then his eyes slid back to the flat screen.

“Television,” he said, slightly awed. “True told me all about TV, but I never imagined ’twould be like this.”

She set the pizza on the kitchen counter and opened a cupboard to get a couple of plates. “Come and get some pizza.” She reached into a drawer for napkins and set them next to the box. The tomato sauce, cheese, sausage and garlic smells made her mouth water. Pulling the top of the cardboard back, she inhaled. “Mmm.”

Robley stood before the counter, looking skeptical. “What is this?”

“Other than the bread and cheese, it wouldn’t do you any good to hear what’s on top. I doubt you’ve heard of most of the ingredients. Just try it.” She lifted four cheesy squares and set them on a plate for him. “Take a few napkins and go sit down. We can eat and watch the movie at the same time.”

He took the plate and the napkins she handed him and returned to the couch. Erin helped herself to a plateful of pizza and joined him. She tore a square off and took a bite. His eyes focused on her mouth as she bit off a chunk of the garlicky, gooey goodness. She chewed, swallowed, and still his eyes never left her. Even eating in his proximity turned her on. Jeez. “Go on. Try it. I know you’re hungry.”

Tentatively, he lifted a piece, sniffed at it and took a small bite. His eyes lit up. He grinned and stuffed the rest of the square into his mouth.

“Told ya.” She smiled back. “Beer and pizza, a little slice of heaven here on earth. Just wait until you try ice cream and chocolate.” He shot her a questioning look with his mouth full—so adorable she could hardly stand it.

After they’d consumed more than half the pizza and a couple of beers each, she was stuffed. Robley flopped back and groaned, patting his stomach. “Done?” she asked. He nodded, and she got up, reaching for their plates, empty beer bottles and napkins. “Ordinarily, I’d expect you to help with the cleanup, but everything is so new to you right now. I’d rather you continue watching the movie.”

“My thanks for your generous hospitality . . . Erin.” His shy glance darted to her and back to the TV. “May I call you by your given name? It suits you, lass.”

“Of course, Robley. We all call each other by our given names these days.” Full and slightly buzzed from the two beers she’d consumed, she busied herself with putting the leftover pizza away, rinsing out the bottles for recycling and stowing the dishes in the dishwasher. After wiping the counter down, she returned to find Robley sound asleep, still sitting upright with his head leaned back on the couch. Lord, he was gorgeous. Soft, rhythmic snores emanated from him. Her heart turned over, exposing its soft underbelly like a puppy wanting a good scratch. She could stare at him for hours and never get bored.

Two people with 584 years between them in evolutionary terms didn’t stand a chance. Besides, he’d be returning to his century soon. She was so close to reaching her career goals. Becoming a midwife was more important to her than anything. Her place was in the present, and his place was in the distant past. No use entertaining any ideas of anything more than a brief, very hot tryst, and she wasn’t certain she could handle that. No. She was certain she couldn’t. Best let it go. Fantasize like crazy, but don’t act on the impulse. Tomorrow she’d lay down some parameters with him, making her position clear.

She headed for the linen closet at the end of the hall and made his bed before returning to wake him. Sitting down on the couch, she reached out and shook his shoulder. “Robley, wake up.”

He shifted, taking her into his arms and drawing her close. He nuzzled her neck for a second and started snoring again with his face planted against her bare skin. His soft breaths tickled her senses and did funny things to her insides. Enveloped in his heady masculine scent and pressed against him, she melted into his warmth, more reluctant to move than she cared to admit. She stroked his cheek, stubble and all, and then ran her fingers through his hair. Hmm, who knew it would be so silky-soft?

He stirred, letting out another long sigh, and tightened his arms around her. Oh yeah. Life had never been fair where she was concerned, and Robley of clan MacKintosh was just another hardball thrown her way. It would all end badly, and she’d be in pain, but man—never before had life felt so fine as it led her toward disaster.

“Robley, wake up.” She shoved his shoulder again.

His eyes opened to half-mast, sexy and sleepy. He let out a rumbling, purring sound from deep in his chest and hugged her to him. “Have I fallen into your arms once again,
mo
cridhe
? Seems we’re back where we started.” He nuzzled her neck and whispered, “Right where we belong.”

Flustered, Erin extricated herself from his embrace and shot off the couch. “It’s late, and you’re obviously out of your mind with exhaustion. I made your bed, now go lie in it.”

CHAPTER FIVE

R
obley sipped the coffee Erin had fixed for him. He found he enjoyed the bitter, dark brew, so different from the tea or ale he usually drank. She’d added cream and sugar, making it even better. Fascinated, he took another sip and watched the bowl of porridge rotate inside the microwave.

As promised, she’d taught him how to use all the wonders of her kitchen, including the sink faucets and the cordless phone. He’d taken notes with yet another futuristic marvel: a ballpoint pen. Plus, she’d provided him with a pad of paper. Erin had called it a legal pad. The thin yellow sheets had lines of blue running across and two lines of red running down either side. Wonderful!

The microwave pinged, and he opened the wee door. The rolled oats had cooked in but a few moments. In his time they had to soak the grain overnight and boil it for a good long while before the oats were edible. Mayhap he could figure out a way to cut and flatten the grain once he returned home. His mouth watered at the scent of the butter and brown sugar melted on top. Sugar was a rare treat at home, though they oft used honey to sweeten things.

He snatched a cloth from the counter and lifted the steaming bowl, placing it on the kitchen table where he’d set his spoon in readiness. As instructed by his lady, he moved to fetch the milk she insisted had to be added before he could truly enjoy the oatmeal, as if he hadn’t been eating porridge almost his entire life. He poured a bit into the bowl and put the carton back in its place inside the large, cold box. Refrigerator. That’s what she’d called it, fridge for short. So much to learn.

Thinking of Erin brought a smile to his face. She’d fussed over him like a mother hen this morn, clearly reluctant to leave him on his own. He knew she’d thought him asleep when she’d stroked his face and ran her fingers through his hair last night, but he always slept lightly. Years of training and numerous nights sleeping out on an open battlefield had schooled him to come to alertness quickly. He’d been well aware and deeply moved by her gentle touch. The way she blushed when he teased her made him chuckle. Aye, she found him attractive. He was off to a good start in wooing her.

Taking his seat, he tucked into his meal, savoring the sweetness of the brown sugar. The telephone rang, and though he’d heard the jarring sound before, he still jumped from his place with his heart in his throat. Snatching it from the stand, he took a moment to recover his breath before bringing it to his ear. “Aye?”

“Robley? It’s Mark. Do you have time to do some training today?”

He grinned. “I always have time to spend in the lists.”

“You crack me up, man. No need to sound like a medieval knight on a Monday morning.”

“I’ve no other way to sound, lad.” He frowned. “How shall I find you?”

“Do you have a rental car?”

“Nay. I’ve no means for transport.”

“OK. I have Erin’s address from the club directory. All I have right now is my motorcycle. My car is waiting for new brakes at my uncle’s garage.” He paused. “You all right with riding on the back of my bike?”

As usual, most of what was said in this age held no meaning. “I’ve no idea . . .”

“It’s a Harley Davidson Breakout,” Mark said, as if that should make all the difference in the world.

“Ah,” he said, still with no notion what that might be. “’Twill be fine, I’m sure.”

“Yeah. We don’t have far to go. I train at the Minnesota Fencing Club in Minneapolis. How about I pick you up right after lunch, about one o’clock?”

“I’ll be ready.” The shorter hand told the hour, and the longer hand counted the minutes, that’s what Erin had said. He glanced at the clock, which reminded him of the sundials oft found near kirks, cloisters and in courtyards. Not difficult at all to read. ’Twas half past ten at present.

“Bring your own sword. They have plastic ones to borrow, but yours is wicked. Would you mind showing it to the owner? He’s a collector, and I know he’d appreciate taking a look. He keeps a real one in his office.”

“All right.” He blinked in puzzlement. Why would anyone want a claymore made of the flimsy plastic stuff? And why would he use another’s weapon when his had been made specifically for him, for his height, reach, grip and balance? “One o’clock then. I’ll await your arrival in front of Erin’s building.”

“Great. Uh . . . speaking of Erin, is she there?”

“Nay. She left earlier this morn.” Yesterday’s look of longing upon Mark’s face brought a frown to his. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason. Just thought I’d say hello . . . maybe ask her out. Do you think she’d go out with me? Did she say anything about me yesterday?”

Robley’s grip on the phone tightened, and a surge of possessiveness had him clenching his jaw. He had no right to her, leastwise no more than Mark. “I dinna ken. Naught was said on her part, but we dinna share such intimacies. We are newly acquainted.”

“Sure, but you’re her cousin. Ask her if she’s interested in me, would you, bro?”

He stifled the growl rising in his throat. “Mayhap. Until later, Mark. I must say farewell for now.”

“OK. Later.”

He set the phone back in its place and returned to the table. Somehow the fare before him had lost its appeal. Mark belonged to Erin’s time, while he did not. Did it matter? Should it matter? Aye, it should and it did. He had a responsibility to his clan, obligations, and expecting Erin to leave her life to join him in the past would be far too presumptuous. Still, what if they were
meant
to be together?

Och, could he even take her back through time with him when he returned? He had but one crystal. Mayhap if they walked into the disturbance simultaneously ’twould work, but what if he lost her along the way? He’d clasp her hands in his, or better yet, hold her tight in his arms. He should have bargained for more than the two tokens. After all, one of the reasons for this journey was to find a lady of his own. Would fate be so cruel as to lead him to her, only to be thwarted when it came time to return? His gut wrenched. “Why did I no’ think to ask Giselle what my future held?”

Shaking himself out of his reverie, he focused on more pressing matters. If he meant to train today, he’d need sustenance. He finished his porridge and rinsed the bowl before placing it and the spoon into the contraption that would wash them. Robley grabbed his mug of coffee and headed for the bathing room. A bath, shave and dressing in his new twenty-first-century garments would be his next adventure.

Though he found the jeans somewhat constricting, he had not mistaken Erin’s appreciative glances. Her eyes had darkened, and she’d become breathless when she’d spied him in his jeans and T-shirt. Her reaction did much to encourage him. She had not looked upon Mark in the same way. In fact, she’d hardly cast her eyes in the other man’s direction at all.

By the time he’d finished his ablutions, it was past eleven o’clock, and Robley prowled around Erin’s great room, picking up this item and that to turn over in his hands for inspection. She had entire shelves filled with books, flimsy by his standards, but books nonetheless. A treasure, to be sure. It took months for a monk to copy and bind a book in his time.

He drew one from its place and glanced at the cover. His brow rose nearly to his hairline at the picture of a half-naked man wearing a broad-brimmed hat, jeans and boots. He thumbed through the thin pages. What manner of book did his lady read? Curious, he took the tome with him to the couch and settled himself to read.

Scandalous! His pulse quickened, and he couldn’t prevent the erotic images from flooding his mind. He set the book down, but not before taking note of the page number. Why, the man and woman had scarce made each other’s acquaintance, and they were already tumbling into bed, doing all sorts of sensual things to each other. Visions of Erin danced through his head, and he imagined holding her. Naked. His jeans grew uncomfortably tight. He picked the book back up to read more.

A few chapters later, he glanced at the clock. He had just enough time to warm some leftover pizza in the microwave for his midday meal before Mark arrived. Taking the book with him, he laid it on the table and propped it open with the salt shaker. He took a plate out of the cabinet and brought it to the fridge to fetch the pizza. Erin had said only a minute or so to warm the leftovers. He put a generous helping onto the plate and set it in the microwave. Again he watched the plate rotate inside. Molly, their cook, would never believe such a thing was possible. He hardly believed it himself. The ping sounded. He moved to the table to eat his pizza . . . and read.

Robley stood outside Erin’s building with his claymore strapped to his back over his hooded sweatshirt. He searched the roadway for any sign of Mark. A moment later, a deep rumble commenced from down the road, growing louder as it approached. Robley stared at the sleek, shiny, two-wheeled black-and-silver vehicle and the lone helmeted rider fast approaching.

Wonder of wonders! The rider pulled the beast up beside him, kicked a stand down and shut off the marvelous sound. He pulled the helmet from his head.

Robley’s eyes widened in unadulterated admiration. “What is this?”

A cocky grin lit Mark’s face. “This is my Harley, or what I like to refer to as my
chick magnet
.” He dismounted and joined him in mutual appreciation for the bike.

“Chick magnet? What has this to do with chickens?” He shot him a questioning look. “I dinna take your meaning.”

“The ladies love to ride, and Harleys are the gold standard in bikes.” Mark chuckled and shook his head. “You act like you’ve never seen a motorcycle before.”

“Humph.” Would he become nauseated when they rode? By the saints, he prayed not. Anticipation lit a fire within him. “Let us depart.”

“OK. I only have the one helmet.” Mark straddled the bike. “Do you want to wear it?”

“Nay.”

“Hold on to this.” He indicated the metal rack extending up from the back of the second seat. “Climb on. Your feet go here.” He pointed again.

Robley climbed on, adjusted his sword and kept his feet on the ground until the Harley moved onto the roadway. The bike vibrated and roared to life as they gathered speed. A wide smile broke free. No nausea, only an exhilarating thrill. “I wish to learn how to operate this vehicle,” he shouted over the rumble.

Mark nodded his helmeted head, and excitement thrummed through Robley’s veins. Did he possess enough of the modern-day currency to purchase a Harley Davidson? Because he wanted one—by the end of the day if possible.

Far too soon, they pulled up next to a building, and Mark shut off the bike. He set the stand and removed his helmet. “You liked the ride?” he asked as he dismounted.

“Indeed.” Reluctantly, Rob climbed off the amazing machine. “In exchange for my tutelage in combat techniques, you will teach me how to drive a Harley?” Truth be told, he would gladly forfeit the time in the lists for another ride. Only this time, he wished to go faster and farther afield. Much faster and farther.

“If you want. After our workout, we’ll find an empty parking lot where we can practice. It’s not hard. The clutch is the pedal here.” He tapped his foot on the part. “The gears and accelerator are on the handlebars, and these are the brakes.” He indicated each part as he named it. “Let’s go inside. I want you to teach me how to disarm my opponent the way you did with Jerry the other day. He’s meeting us here, by the way. I hope that’s all right with you.”

“For certes, he needs to train as well.” He followed Mark through the door to a very large chamber. The wood-plank floor was polished to a high shine and had lines and circles painted upon its surface. Racks and shelving positioned near the wall on one end held all manner of swords and accoutrements. Most of the swords were unlike any he’d seen—smaller, shorter, with narrow, unsharpened blades and blunted tips covered with small plastic circlets. But there were also many resembling his claymore, only made of plastic. A group of individuals wearing padded garments like he wore under his armor were engaged in practice with broadswords. “What do they wear over their faces?” he murmured.

“Ah, it’s just protective gear. Come on. There’s Connor. He owns the place.” Mark took off for the tall, fit man standing to the side and watching over the group practicing. He held a long plastic sword with the flat side of the blade resting upon his shoulder.