Time Travel Romances Boxed Set (59 page)

“
There it is,” she said and
pointed. Evidently Alasdair had noted the thistle on the sign,
because he headed straight for it.

They paused as one at the base of the steps,
Morgan toying with her key. She hadn’t dated in so long that she’d
forgotten how awkward this moment could be.

But then, this wasn’t a date.

Morgan tipped her head back to find
Alasdair’s expression unreadable. “Thank you for walking me home,”
she said quietly, then smiled. “And thank you for keeping those
kids from taking my purse. I really appreciate it.” She cleared her
throat, unable to look away from Alasdair’s steady gaze.

It didn’t help that he didn’t say
anything.

“
And thank you for
singing,” Morgan added. “I liked the story very much.”

Alasdair smiled suddenly, the sight stealing
Morgan’s breath away. “Anything to please you, my lady,” he
murmured, then bent low over her hand.

Morgan’s skin tingled where his lips brushed
across it. The memory of their kiss unfurled in her mind, and she
didn’t trust herself not to repeat her mistake.

She turned and quickly trotted up the
stairs, hating how breathless her voice sounded. “Well, good-bye. I
hope you do find your way home.”

Alasdair frowned at that, and the sadness
that claimed his eyes tore at Morgan’s heart.

But before she could say anything she would
probably regret, he turned back to the street. “Sleep well, my
lady,” he said gruffly and walked away.

Morgan hesitated for a moment, fingering her
key. If Edinburgh wasn’t Alasdair’s home, then where would he
sleep? Did he even have any money? Her characteristic sympathy
rolled to the fore, and she almost called after him before she
caught herself.

He must be trying to manipulate her!
Obviously, he wanted the crystal back. Morgan had to remember that
Alasdair was an accomplished con artist – and the consummate
actor.

But all the same, his song had filled her
mind with wonderful images. She let herself into the silent B&B
and climbed the three flights of stairs to her room, thinking
busily all the while.

Instead of going to bed, Morgan turned on
the light over the desk and pulled out her sketchbook. She stared
at the blank paper for just a moment before she began to fill it
with drawings for the tale of Thomas the Rhymer.

The work came with an ease that Morgan had
almost forgotten. A border of curling ivy concealed half a dozen
pointed and curious faces. Then, Thomas’s grassy bank of Erceldoune
grew across the page, filled with wildflowers and tiny hands and
faces.

Morgan’s pencil seemed to have a mind of its
own. She felt as though she were simply setting the little sketched
elves and fairies free of their pencil prison.

She smiled and bent over the work, thinking
about Alasdair’s wonderfully deep and expressive voice. There was
something magical in the way he had made each character come to
life. The old folk verses painted such vivid pictures in her mind
that she could swear she had been to Elfland with Thomas.

But then, a lot of actors could sing. And
she had always had a weakness for a good baritone.

All the same, Morgan couldn’t completely
free herself of the spell of his voice. She stopped trying and let
the illustration flow under its own momentum. Alasdair’s song
echoed in Morgan’s ears as the Queen of Elfland’s radiant outspread
wings came to shimmering life on the page.

This was exactly what she had needed to
begin on her book. Morgan refused to think about the man
responsible for her inspiration – let alone whether it was more
than his song that had had inspired her.

*

Little did Morgan know that in the tiny park
opposite the bed-and-breakfast, a disreputable-looking highlander
folded himself up on a public bench, his gaze fixed on the golden
light spilling from her window, and settled in for the night.

*

Justine knocked on Morgan’s door and then,
when there was no response, knocked even harder. Honestly, it was
eight o’clock! Blake was itching to get on the road again and head
off to Scone Palace in Perth. And Morgan was late.

Again.

Justine was going to have to get her sister
a watch with alarm bells or something. But then, Morgan would
probably find a way to ignore that, too.

Justine knocked again. Blake had left their
room across the hall, pushed up his glasses, and gave Justine an
exaggerated wink. She smiled, knowing what had put the twinkle in
her husband’s eye.

She had no doubt that there was an answering
sparkle in her own.

“
We could just go back to
bed,” he murmured. He strolled across the foyer and planted a kiss
on the nape of Justine’s neck that made her shiver. “Check out
late. What do you think?”

“
You’d never do it.”
Justine turned to Morgan’s door. “Do you think anything’s
wrong?”

Blake grinned. “Maybe something’s very
right.”

“
What do you
mean?”

“
You didn’t look out the
window this morning, did you?”

Justine shook her head, mystified, and Blake
pushed the door to their room open with a fingertip. “Go look,” he
invited.

“
You’re going to ambush me
and we’ll never get out of here,” she accused, unable to keep
herself from smiling at the thought.

“
Scout’s honor.” Blake
crossed his heart solemnly.

“
Rats,” Justine teased,
then went to look.

Alasdair was sitting on a park bench, his
long legs stretched out in front of him, his ankles crossed. His
arms were folded across his chest and his expression was grim.

He was staring at a point that would exactly
correspond to Morgan’s window.

“
Oh!” Justine spun around
to face Blake with delight. “What do you think
happened?”

He shrugged, unable to hide his own smile.
“It’s not like Morgan to sleep once the sun is up.”

“
You’re right. She’s always
been a morning person.” Justine fought to keep her hopes from
rising too high. She darted back out into the hall and rapped
impatiently on Morgan’s door.

“
Morgan?” Justine leaned
close and called quietly against the door. “Breakfast is on. Are
you coming?”

She thought she heard sounds of life from
within the room, so she knocked again. Louder.

Morgan opened the door a crack, her hair
spilling around her face in a disorganized tangle. She was still
wearing her dress from the night before, but it was wrinkled almost
beyond recognition.

Something – or someone – had kept Morgan up
all night.

Justine dared to hope.

Then she saw the pencil smudges on her
sister’s fingers, and her heart sank. Alasdair might be smitten,
but Morgan had just been working.

Drat.

“
Good morning.” Justine
forced a bright tone. “Sleep well?”

Morgan ran one hand over her brow, then
frowned toward the little desk in one corner of her room. “It
wasn’t long enough to tell. What time is it?”

“
Eight.”

“
And I was supposed to meet
you at seven-thirty.” Morgan groaned. “I’m sorry.” She wandered
away from the door and surveyed the room, as if unfamiliar with its
contents. “Do I have time for a shower?”

Justine, unashamed of her curiosity,
followed and closed the door behind them. She immediately noticed
the open sketchbook on the desk but tried to look as if she
hadn’t.

“
Sure. If you pick what
you’re wearing, I’ll pack the rest of your stuff. Then we can have
breakfast together.” Justine gave her sister a pointed glance.
“This is a vacation, after all.”

“
Right. How could I
forget?” Before Justine could interpret that, Morgan yawned
luxuriously. “I guess I can nap in the car.” She peeled off her
dress, plucked leggings and a sweater from her bag, then padded
into the en suite bathroom.

Justine felt a teensy-weensy twinge of guilt
as she unfolded her sister’s suitcase on the bed. Were they running
at too quick a pace for Morgan?

But then, if she had her way, Morgan would
never get very far at all. Justine frowned at the jumbled contents
of the bag and set to work reorganizing everything. “When did you
go to sleep?” she called out.

“
I don’t know. I remember
seeing the sun come up.”

An all-nighter. Justine was itching to see
the product of her sister’s work, but she knew Morgan didn’t like
people looking at sketches before they were done. And she couldn’t
tell by Morgan’s manner whether she was pleased with the work or
not. The shower began to run as Justine folded and packed with
surgical precision.

Only when her sister had disappeared into
the show stall did Justine dare to step over to the desk. Three
pages were scattered there, each one covered with Morgan’s
trademark whimsical drawings.

Justine glanced guiltily toward the
bathroom. She could hear Morgan humming some tune in the
shower.

So she bent closer to look.

And caught her breath at the myriad little
fairy faces peeking out mischievously from behind leaves and
nodding flowers. The first page was titled “Thomas Rhymer” – this
lanky man who had a passing resemblance to Blake must be Thomas
himself. In one corner was a woman of such ethereal beauty that she
could only be a fairy queen. Her horse was dressed with ribbons and
pacing impatiently, her own wings as gossamer fine and iridescent
as those of a dragonfly.

Justine was so engrossed that she didn’t
hear the shower stop.

“
Oh! You found
them.”

Justine pivoted, one of Morgan’s clean
T-shirts clutched against her chest. “Morgan, they’re gorgeous!”
she declared before her sister could say anything. “These are more
beautiful than any of your work I’ve seen before.”

Morgan glanced down, typically modest of her
abilities, and smiled. “They are, aren’t they?”

“
They’re absolutely
wonderful. So, who’s this Thomas Rhymer?”

Her sister, characteristically, flushed, and
even the way she fussed with pulling on her sweater couldn’t hide
it. “He was a poet who said he had been captured by the Queen of
Elfland. He kissed her and was imprisoned by her for seven years in
her kingdom.”

“
Wow.” Justine turned back
to the magical drawings with fascination. The longer she looked,
the more details she seemed to notice. “Just the kind of story you
wanted to find.”

Morgan’s flush deepened as she crossed the
room. “Yes,” she admitted, then hastily gathered the drawings
together. “Look, these aren’t done…”

“
I know, I know, you’d
prefer not to have me ogling them.” Justine stepped out of the way,
watching her sister carefully slide the drawings into a portfolio.
Morgan’s high color and the silence that descended told Justine
there was something important she had missed.

And she immediately guessed what it was.

Justine leaned a hip against the desk with
apparent idleness and fixed Morgan with a look designed to worm
confessions out of war criminals. “So, who told you about Thomas
Rhymer?”

Morgan flushed crimson.

Blake had been right!

Morgan’s attempt to shrug off the question
didn’t fool Justine. “Alasdair told me.”

“
Really?” Justine forced
her tone to remain calm even though she was gleeful inside. “So you
did stay at the restaurant, after all.” She ran a finger down the
desk. “Did you have a nice dessert?”

“
No, well, no, we didn’t
actually stay.” Morgan shuffled her feet, the very image of a child
caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

Even better – they had adjourned to more
romantic surroundings.

“
Alasdair took you
somewhere else?” Justine asked. “Where did you go? Some nice little
coffee bar?”

“
Well, um, no.”

Justine had a sudden feeling that things
hadn’t gone perfectly according to plan. She impaled her sister
with a look that commanded a full accounting.

Morgan, tellingly, examined her toes.
“Actually, we argued and I, uh, left the restaurant alone.”

Alone?

“
You took a cab?” Justine’s
tone was icy.

“
No, I couldn’t get
one.”

“
Morgan, tell me that you
didn’t walk alone!” Justine flung out her hands when her sister
shrugged and stalked across the room, hating that Morgan could make
her so very angry.

And that only when her baby sister showed no
care for her own safety. Honestly, sometimes she felt as though
Morgan needed a full-time keeper!

“
How many times have I told
you that you just can’t count on the world being a safe place?
We’re not living in Disneyland, you know. Even though Scotland has
Old World charm by the tone, this isn’t the old world
anymore…”

“
Justine, it was
fine.”

Justine felt her eyes narrow with suspicion
as she turned to Morgan again. There was more to this story than
she was hearing, that was for sure. “
Nothing
happened?”

Morgan shuffled her feet. “Well, it might
have if Alasdair hadn’t followed me.”

Anger coursed through Justine, relief quick
on its heels. To hide her response, she turned to finish the
packing, her gestures quick and efficient.

Had Alasdair appointed himself Morgan’s
keeper?

The thought appealed to Justine. “I like him
better and better all the time,” she restrained herself to
saying.

That seemed to snap Morgan to attention.

“
Justine! He stole the
crystal from the regalia, and I have it. He wants it back.
Obviously he wants me to trust him and will do anything to make me
let down my guard.”