Time Travel Romances Boxed Set (51 page)

’
Twas as though this pair
copied the garb of their queen to win her favor. The man tapped a
curiously slender quill on a pad of uncommonly fine vellum. A
clerk, Alasdair concluded, though his implements could only have
been wrought so fine by dark sorcery.

These must be Morgaine’s advisors. All
leaders gathered a cadre of like-minded men about them, in
Alasdair’s experience. Perhaps including the woman, whose function
Alasdair could not discern, was a concession to Morgaine’s own
gender.

It seemed his eye was already bewitched by
her, for his gaze kept dancing back to linger on those boldly
displayed legs. Alasdair could not seem to stop it. She had fine
legs, that was true enough, but still his attraction for her was
unsettling.

Could Morgaine have already cast a spell
over him?

“
But I thought we were
going to Stirling tomorrow,” Morgaine was saying as Alasdair drew
near. She looked confused and he paused to eavesdrop on this
unexpected development.

“
Stirling?” The man frowned
and shook his head with disdain. “There’s no reason to go there,
nothing to see at all.”

That was true enough to Alasdair’s thinking
- Stirling was the last of the royal burghs still held by the
English, after all. Why would a right-thinking man want to go
there, unless it was to attack? Alasdair warmed to the lanky man,
despite the unnatural contraption fixed over his eyes.

The device was wrought of two wire circles,
hooked securely to the man’s ears and linked over his nose. Some
torture tool of Morgaine’s devising, Alasdair concluded, feeling
sympathy for the man when he pushed it further up his nose.

It must be fiercely uncomfortable.

“
Nothing to see?” Morgaine
echoed. “But you just said you wanted to visit
Bannockburn!”

“
Visit the site where
Scottish independence was lost forever?” The man rolled his eyes.
“Morgan, there’s no way I would go there!”

Now, there was the sound thinking of a
Scotsman! Alasdair himself could not have been convinced to visit
such a place, wherever it might be.

But Scottish independence was hardly lost
forever. Alasdair conceded that ’twas not unreasonable for an
advisor of Morgaine - who clearly supported the English - should
appear pessimistic about Scotland’s success in the current bloody
fight.

“
Don’t be ridiculous!”
Morgaine argued. “Bannockburn was the site of a Scottish
victory
! The guide was just telling us so.”

“
Morgan!” The man looked
down his nose at the enchantress. “What are you thinking? The guide
just told us that the Scottish were soundly
defeated
at
Bannockburn.”

The advisor’s manner was quite bold, to
Alasdair’s thinking.

The other woman shook her head. “Honestly,
Morgan. Didn’t you pay any attention?” she chided. “Remember -
we’re going to the Palace of Scone tomorrow.”

“
Where the Kings of
Scotland were once crowned,” the male advisor added with
gusto.

Aye, that was true enough. Robert the Bruce
himself had been crowned there but a few years past.

Still, the manner of these advisors was
still inexplicably forthright. Alasdair could only conclude that
this pair must be close to the enchantress to challenge her so
openly, especially when she looked distressed. Were they not
terrified of her reprisal?

“
You’ve got this backwards,
Blake,” Morgaine insisted. She fanned through a book with an ease
that belied the volume’s obvious value, then began to read
aloud.

“
After the effort to
reclaim Edinburgh Castle from the English in 1314
failed…
”

Morgaine’s voice faded and her dark brows
pulled together in consternation. “But that’s not what he just told
us!” She looked to her companions. “And it’s
not
what I read
in this same book this morning!”

The woman rolled her eyes. “For the last
time, Morgan, you’ve got to keep real life separate from your
imagination.”

“
But it said…”

“
Morgan, you have to pay
attention,” the woman interrupted crisply.

Morgaine closed her mouth firmly, but
Alasdair knew she was not pleased.

The man pushed the device up his nose and
glanced around himself, his face lighting up when he spotted
Alasdair. “Ha! We’ll ask a real Scotsman for Scottish history,” he
declared and beckoned to Alasdair. “Excuse me, sir, could you
answer a question about your homeland for us?”

A real Scotsman. That was Alasdair. Alasdair
stepped forward with pride at the advisor’s astute appraisal.

Morgaine turned slightly, her vivid emerald
gaze lighting on Alasdair. Her eyes widened slightly, as though she
were alarmed to find him so close at hand, and Alasdair’s gut
clenched.

The force of his attraction to her was no
less the second time - it could only be magically invoked. Alasdair
was suddenly achingly aware of how delicately wrought the sorceress
was.

Had she guessed his weakness for petite
women and somehow taken this form to deliberately tempt him? Oh, he
could toss her over his shoulder and find a quiet corner to show
her a thing or two, that much Alasdair knew!

But Alasdair needed to court Morgaine’s
favor if he meant to escape her kingdom and ’twas clear that a
liaison was not to way to do so.

Alasdair summoned his best memory of fine
manners and bowed slightly to her. “My lady Morgaine,” he
murmured.

“
Morgan!” the other woman
whispered with undisguised delight. “Who is
this
?” She gave
Alasdair a perusal that was openly assessing, and he felt awkward
at the obviousness of her approval.

Then she looked to Morgaine and arched a
questioning dark brow. To Alasdair’s amazement, the sorceress
blushed like a young girl and that heat returned to his loins right
on cue.

There was nothing softer or sweeter, to
Alasdair’s mind, than a woman’s unwitting blush. Had she guessed
his vulnerabilities so completely as that?

“
We, um, we just met, in
the tower there,” Morgaine said, with markedly less than her
earlier assurance. Her cheeks turned steadily more crimson when she
dropped her book, though the woman advisor seemed quite pleased by
this news.

“
Aye, that we did,”
Alasdair contributed, certain his urge to help the faltering
Morgaine was purely due to his need to earn her good will. He
stooped and scooped up the volume, presenting it to her with a
slight bow.

Their fingertips brushed in the transaction
and an unholy tingle danced along Alasdair’s flesh. He made the
mistake of glancing into those beguiling green eyes and found
himself marveling at the thickness of her dark lashes.

But wait! Alasdair could not be feeling
gallant toward an enchantress who held his fate within her cruel
grasp. He forced himself to tear his gaze away, though the deed was
more difficult than expected.

Morgaine fumbled with her book and Alasdair
knew her discomfiture was due to the failure of her attempt to
charm him. Faith, but she had a rare power! He would have to doubly
brace himself against her allure.

“
You’re a
real
Scotsman,” the man commented.

“
Aye and proudly so,”
Alasdair confirmed and squared his shoulders with pride. It was a
relief to turn his attention on the advisor, though the weight of
Morgaine’s gaze was heavy upon him. “I am Alasdair MacAulay,
pledged to the chief of Siol Tormod, and sworn to the hand of
Robert the Bruce, King of Scots.”

To his amazement, the advisors stared at him
for an instant, then laughed aloud. Alasdair glanced to the
sorceress to find even her lips twitching.

There was naught amusing about his name!

“
Bravo!” The man clapped
his hands. “I didn’t know they hired actors to bring history alive
here. What a wonderful idea!” He turned to the female advisor, who
nodded agreement.

“
Very convincing,” she
added with a gracious smile. “And your costume is so
authentic!”

Alasdair frowned Morgaine, uncertain what to
make of this. The smile she was fighting to hide won the battle and
curved her lips as she met his eyes. She touched the man on the
sleeve, her gaze unwavering from Alasdair.

“
Go easy on him,” Morgaine
said quietly. “He fell down the stairs and hit his
head.”

Her soft tone undermined Alasdair’s
resistance to her charms. He forced himself to watch the advisors.
What the enchantress said was true enough, but the pair made more
of this revelation than Alasdair expected. They nudged each other
knowingly, exchanged a wink, then offered him bright smiles.

The man pushed the torture device up his
nose once more. “But all the same, you must know your Scottish
history. Can you settle this dispute for us, for once and for all?
What happened at Bannockburn?”

“
Bannockburn?” Alasdair
racked his brain but could not remember anything of a place with
such a name. It did not help his memory to have the enchantress’s
emerald gaze locked upon him. With eerie certainty, Alasdair knew
she watched him without even looking her way.

Yet, despite her obvious interest in his
response, Alasdair could not lie. “I do not even know of such a
place as Bannockburn,” he admitted.

“
Aha! You see - they don’t
even teach their children about such a humiliating loss!” the man
crowed. He pulled a shiny and colorful volume from his pocket, then
handled what must be a very precious manuscript with abandon.
Fanning the pages, he bent the book open and tapped the vellum with
a knowing fingertip.

“
Says all about it, right
there.”

Alasdair leaned forward, as he was evidently
expected to do, but could make no sense of the myriad black
lines.

He supposed this would not be an opportune
moment to admit that he had never seen much point in learning to
read. That was the business of monks and clerics, not men who had
battles to fight and a living to wrest from hostile soil.

Or so he had long maintained.

’
Twas Morgaine, to
Alasdair’s astonishment, who seemed to guess the truth.

She sidled up beside him, some enticingly
feminine scent rising from her skin to tease Alasdair’s nostrils.
He thought immediately of a pallet piled high with coverlets and
pulled close to a fire, the sorceress Morgaine securely in his
lap.

Alasdair clenched his fists as a fantasy
that could only be magically induced possessed his mind.

But he could not stop the image of himself
peeling away those garments that revealed Morgaine’s form so
temptingly, kissing those luscious lips all the while. He guessed
that she would have skin as creamy as fresh milk, softer than soft
and smooth from her head to her toe. He saw his hand sliding over
the curve of her shoulder, slipping downward to cup her
breast…

“
After the failure to
regain Edinburgh Castle,”
she read crisply, her finger tracing
the path of the script.
“Robert the Bruce rapidly lost ground in
his attempts to claim control of Scotland from the English. In the
wake of his failures, Bruce died forgotten…”

The words slowly penetrated and Alasdair
straightened with a snap. This fiendish creature had laid claim to
his very mind!

“
That is a lie!” Alasdair
interrupted, outraged that even Morgaine would insist on such
travesty. “That is a clarty lie! Robert the Bruce is a hero, yet
full of vim and vigor! And Edinburgh Castle was taken from the
English just this last night!”

The trio blinked, clearly unconvinced.

“
Last night?” Morgaine
breathed. She stood right beside him, her breast nearly touching
his arm, but Alasdair steeled himself against her
charms.

“
Aye, last night it was,”
he said firmly, his certainty in the timing faltering slightly
before such skepticism. “Or perhaps the night before, I am not
certain how long I slept.”

The three were still openly dubious.

“
I led the attack myself!”
Alasdair insisted. He turned to Morgaine, certain he could persuade
her of the truth. “You have but to take me there! Take me to
Edinburgh keep and I will
show
you the truth!”

Her eyes were filled with sympathy. “We are
there,” she said quietly and offered him an apologetic smile.

Nay! It could not be true! Alasdair looked
about himself with alarm. “This is not the keep of Edinburgh! It
cannot be!”

It certainly was not the Edinburgh Alasdair
had seen just the night before. The town spilled below the mount
where the keep was built stretched in every direction, spreading
from the foot of the mount and belching mire into the air. The keep
itself was larger and more ornate, rife with towers and walls where
none had been before.

This place was irreconcilable with
Edinburgh!

But then Alasdair saw the similarities in
the sweep of the land itself. The mound of Arthur’s Seat rose
behind the tower of the fortress before him, the smooth water of
the Firth of Forth sparkled in the distance. He examined the hills
and could not deny the similarity with those he knew surrounded the
city.

The hillock where they had camped still rose
as a curve against the land, although now it was piled with
buildings of some manner or another. Alasdair frowned. If he
ignored the buildings, ’twas not
that
different from the
land he had so recently looked upon.

This could truly be the site of Edinburgh,
but with a dark and twisted town of Morgaine’s imagination imposed
upon the land he recognized. Too late, Alasdair recalled that in
his gran’s tales of the land of Faerie all was familiar but
contorted from the world of mortals.