"Why not, Katie?" Guinevere asked.
The blonde sighed audibly, staring at the busy street. "There's just so much we haven't seen here." She glanced over her shoulder at the others. "Don't you want to see what we can?"
Good to see a lass enamored with Scottish history. But she's a Yank with that accent.
"Scotland's amazing. But two years is enough for me," Guinevere squealed. "New Zealand would be fascinating with its enormous terraced hot springs and amazing array of marine life."
New Zealand's fascinating too. But what keeps Katie here? A lass entranced with Scotland is certainly worthy of more than friendship.
The car rolled to a stop. Katie peered around at everyone, her serious gaze locking on mine.
For what? My opinion. What would she say? "Guinevere is right."
"Guinevere?" The lasses chimed and giggled simultaneously.
Will men ever understand women?
When the heckling laughter died down, Katie still stared at me. "Jennifer," she amended.
"He can call me Guinevere."
The redhead fell back into the seat, leaving a clear view of Katie. "Of course, you'd like that, the princess you think you are. It's Jennifer, Murdo," Pam sneered.
Besides, Guinevere had been a Celtic whore queen. Jennifer obviously doesn't understand the point. How can anyone in the days when legend was little to be treasured?
"Well, I think we'd best get over to South Bridge." Katie stepped on the gas.
The vehicle surged forward like a runaway asteroid, throwing my body backward into the upholstered chair.
Gods' teeth! I clutched the door's handle.
Unfortunately, the lass didn't dislodge her irksome friends from the backseat in the process. She definitely tired of the females by her actions. Why blame her? Too many females always resulted in trouble. A man born yesterday knew that singular fundamental Truth. I would just stick with the healer maiden who owned a terrestrial cart and metal-working tools. There is no telling what other resources she had access to. Besides she favored Scotland. The mother land of the mother world.
Cars whirred around the vehicle.
Katie turned back to me. "We've no address to contact you. I don't know where to leave you until we've finished touring the Vaults. What will we do with you, Murdo?"
"I'll go my way when we arrive at your destination." And straighten this time-travel key.
Katie's jaw dropped. "First you refuse to see a doctor. Now lunch? You can't just walk off without letting us buy you lunch. I owe you a meal after trying to kill you."
Not good. "No, lass."
"You won't win. You must let us feed you," she insisted.
****
I'd die if Murdo just dissolved into the Vaults like a ghostly apparition once the car stopped moving. He's incredible, sitting there, staring out the windshield with strong arms, long brown queue to match his scraggly growth of beard on his squared jawline. Raw man. Throw in the Highland dress, and a girl's totally hooked. Scotsmen really should don kilts outside of the clan gatherings. The whole country is nuts for wearing modern clothing styles.
And Murdo spoke of walking away. What have I done to deserve such horrible luck? There's no time to ponder the issue. He hadn't argued, and traffic is so horrendously half-ass backward in the city.
"Turn left at the next intersection," Pam instructed from the back seat. "Just park at the curb."
With turn signal clicking, I slowed to stop and took the corner. The car swung the view down an almost vacant two-lane street. Tall dreary brick buildings flanked both sides of the black top.
Pam thrust a finger between the front seats. "There on the left."
Anything to keep from hitting another Scot. I parallel-parked.
"I'm leaving the travel guides and my backpack," Jennifer declared.
"Hurry. We're almost too late for the early tour." Pam swung her door wide.
Murdo shoved his door open too and climbed out.
Lord, he'd get away. I hustled around the car to the sidewalk.
Pam grabbed my elbow though, pulling me backward, leaning close, whispering, "Are you planning to take him home?"
Only to repair his sword. We'd already had this discussion. I'm doing what I'm doing. End of subject. I shot Pam a scowl, shook my elbow free, and proceeded to Murdo's side.
He eyed the multi-story buildings, looking overwhelmed for a moment, then, he turned his stunning blue gaze to lock on mine.
The whole world shivered.
Lord, he could challenge Adrian Paul for the best-looking Scotsman even though Mr. Paul was English. Ironies never ceased to amaze a girl. And is that another faint smile on Murdo's lips?
Jennifer sidled up beside him, positioned herself at his other elbow, and smiled like a Cheshire cat.
Not peanut-butter legs. Why does Princess Jennifer need two men? No woman needed two men like Murdo. Jennifer already had her tanned gold medal Olympian back in California at Scripps with a two-carat diamond in hand on bent knee.
"Come on, Murdo." Jennifer took his arm. "I'm paying your way."
Whore. No. He won't go with her. I bit back the comment to save the group from another embarrassing moment in public. It's bad enough people called us stupid Americans. Besides men will be men. Life had proven that enough time and time again.
Murdo walked to the door with Jennifer.
No man could be trusted. Ever. And arguing with Jennifer over her disgusting need for attention won't get us anywhere. Our friendship had yet to evolve to self-analysis as the relationship had between Pam and I. Jennifer could never understand. It's best to leave the girl's vices alone.
Pam shuffled beside me, softly chuckling. "I guess Princess Guinevere has a mind of her own." She snaked an arm across my shoulders and steered us toward the wooden door. We followed Murdo and Jennifer.
The green-and-blue kilt wagged at his bowed knees.
Sexy muscle right below the knee in big chunky calves spritzed with dark hair. Hair. Hairy. Who wants a guy like that?
My heart sank.
Me. But why would any man pick a tomboy over Miss Sex Pot?
The couple stopped at the door.
Uck. Couple. What is wrong with the world? Who wants a guy who thinks Jennifer is the epitome of femininity? He couldn't have enough brain cells to chat about the intricacies of symbolism in art.
Murdo effortlessly pulled the dark wood wide and waited for them to enter.
Like a gentleman. Or jerk posing as one. Remember jerk posing as a gentleman. I passed the iron chest.
The one I couldn't help but recall lurking beneath his white shirt. Molded steel. What a tree trunk. And Jennifer would probably carve a heart with their initials inside it upon his chest before today was over. A disgusting tattoo. Forget him. Time for some fun. A good spook. I strode into the shadowy room.
A desk was set off to the side of a long dark hall. A hotel bell sparkled atop the desk in lamplight cast by a floor lamp to the bell's left. Jennifer made for the bell and tapped once.
A door swooshed down the hall, illuminating a hallway with natural light. A woman in a black- and-white pantsuit stepped into view.
"Hello," the lady called with a distinctly Scots accent.
"We're here for the tour," Jennifer clarified. "Are we the only ones?"
The sound of whispering fabric and footfalls crescendoed with the woman's approach. "Aye. Four's more than enough." She paused behind the desk, eyeing Murdo. "You look like some of the ghosts people speak of spotting in the vaults."
Murdo smiled a warm smile.
As if he agreed.
"Four then?" The lady nodded.
After handing over money, we headed down the hallway.
Jennifer gripped Murdo's elbow.
Like he'd escape. And he didn't seem to care, eyeing the white walls and ceiling. Whore and cretin. What a duo.
The tour guide turned to speak over her shoulder. "My name is Annie McKardee. We're going to have a great morning."
<
br /> Are we? Good, after running over Mr. Right, reviving him, only to lose him to Miss Congeniality. Maybe my problem is in my career choice. Not one smidgen of glamour lingered in metal working. Whereas Jennifer lived in a bikini. Glamour resonated in that one little word, bikini. But metal smithing is all I have now that my parents are dead. Especially after Jennifer sank her claws into Murdo McEwen. Hopefully, some ghost would scare the crap out of Jennifer in the vaults. The wench deserved as much.
****
Later, the Vault's narrow slate stairwell forced Katie to drop back behind Pam. Shoulders and heads bobbed in front of her. The party wound downward with the stone walls. Uncovered light bulbs dangled overhead. Everything seemed so unfinished, she noted. Like my life. How ridiculously hysterical. I so needed to just take what I wanted. Why can't I? Mom kept telling me to just grab onto the golden ring. At least, I could think about her now without being thrown into a horrible depression. But that damned golden ring is so out of reach if I want my dream profession.
We reached a large shadowy subterranean passageway. Everyone stepped off to mill about the cavernous empty space as if there were ghosts to see. Annie turned a smile, blocking the group's progression into the dark barren underworld of Edinburgh while black rectangles loomed beyond her shoulders.
Staring into the dark ominous voids, the shapes finally became doorways fading into the distant void of the passageway. Unfortunately, I could still see how Jennifer hung onto Murdo's arm, turning a sparkling half smile up to him.
Harlot. So much for a rosy love life. Better to accept Murdo can't be trusted.
"As you know, these are the tenements used for over three centuries by local tradesmen." Annie scanned the group, making eye contact with each of us while speaking.
Her amazing Scottish burr pulled me into her story and the prop of the surrounding bare stone walls fell away.
"But the underground catacombs became a slum, housing all sorts of impoverished people within an extensive subterranean network," Annie explained. "Here people grew up, wed, raised their children, and died."
The walls closed in with that harrowing reality. I scanned the barren stone walls for something uplifting.
Anything. Not one sunny ray of light illuminated the darkness. Everywhere stone walls disappeared into pockets of hungry shadow beyond the brightened dome of light created by a dangling light bulb. This place is nothing more than a tomb. What a way to live. Underground. And I thought my life sucked.
A draft ripped through the room.
"Oh. Did you feel that?" Annie spun, searching the shadows.
"I felt an updraft," Pam noted.
"It's more than that. That's my favorite spirit, Tim. He always meets up with me here. He's my assistant." Annie smiled, glancing toward the passageway. "Hello, Tim."
Pam shot me a cynical glance.
The story is probably just a gimmick to boost tourism. I shrugged.
"Come on now." Annie smiled at us all. "Let's take a closer look."
Everyone stepped toward the dark corridor.
****
Tim? Murdo doubted the spirit was as charming as the name. The burst of electromagnetic radiation is undoubtedly here for a reason, he concluded. Twenty-first-century minds weren't prepared for receiving the Seer's message though. The docent is lying. I studied the calm businesswoman.
Can she know about Time Guardians? Is she privy to my concerns? Better still, why did a Seer need to speak to Annie? She's simply-clad, minimally-bejeweled. There's naught there for spirit to gain from the relationship. Unless, Annie is someone's soul mate.
Not mine. No.
My heart choked.
Is this detour through this horrible century about me finding my soul mate?
Guinevere squeezed my elbow.
No. The beguiling wench. I glanced at her wanton mask.
Not her. Guinevere's no maiden. Of course, twenty-first-century maidens are renowned for their promiscuity. Maybe not all of them. I peered over the brunette's head at the blonde.
Katie studied a wall.
Oblivious to my scrutiny. Now the blonde's a maiden, perhaps a warrior or a healer. But a maiden nonetheless. Why did the brunette, named after the Celtic whore queen, leer at me? I hadn't enticed her a single time. No. She isn't my soul mate. She can't be. She didn't stir any form of desire in me. Soul mates reportedly stoked a man's need. The room literally lit up when one's soul mate entered. When their gazes met. Locked. Aye, this Guinevere is not my soul mate. And even if any of these females turns out to be, I haven't received word of such a match. A Time Guardian needed official confirmation, or he wouldn't distort the timeline with bastard children who created paradoxes.
"Come on Murdo." Guinevere's hand tugged my arm. Her sparkling teeth glinted beneath the dim lighting. "Let's go. This will be amazing."
One of many possibilities, no doubt. Maybe the spirit would speak to me? Reveal this wench isn't my soul mate. Perhaps declare my purpose in the twenty-first century.
Ring Masters truly needed an assignment for optimum performance.
The brunette led me into the guide's wake. Her touch made my skin crawl. But I couldn't be rude. The things a Brother did to return home. I strode toward the darkening passageway and Annie.
The guide halted in a doorway, watching us with a pleasant mask. She ran a hand along the inside wall beyond our view.
A bare light bulb dangling among the shadows flicked on beyond the threshold.
Hanging nude, its soul bared for all. Somewhat disconcertingly. Like a man poised precariously by a rope from the gallows.
Maiden footsteps quieted behind me.
"This is one of out most noteworthy chambers." Annie turned her nose toward the light. "A child resides within." She entered the room.
All the maidens bullied their way past me in a flurry.
Leaving me with Guinevere. Why the heightened interest? I studied Katie's long swinging braid as she hustled into the other space.
Waving a farewell. Dauntingly. Like I should prove myself a man and go first. I should. With spirits afoot, she shouldn't be in such a hurry to greet them. Och! These naïve females. I maneuvered around the wooden doorframe.
They shuffled before half-built walls, most likely weathered with time. Or the passing of visitors who'd come to pay homage to all the brightly-colored objects littering the room. Toys. Period toys.
Annie pointed at one wee thing. "That's the first doll left to ease the spirit of the lass who haunts this room."
"Lass?" Guinevere asked.
Sorrow consumed the wench's features.
Could the emotion be genuine? Hopefully. At least, she was sympathetic in her twenty-first-century looseness. If only she'd loosen her grip on my arm.
Annie stepped around the room, eyeing objects, grit whispering beneath her period shoes. "Many suspect she was abandoned by her parents, left here to die."
The blonde turned, studying the floor. Her gaze prowled along until landing on my boots, then, slowly slid up my length, stopping only when our gazes locked.
Her gaze seemed heavy with longing and sadness. Maybe a good spook in the vaults is what she needs to change her perspective.
The maiden blinked and spun back to the guide.
Such sorrow. To grab her, squeeze the pain from her eyes. I'd do best to run from the room and this budding compassion. Maidens could change a Ring Master's future. Aye. But a Ring Master weds the Druidess assigned to him. One attached to him for eternity. For life and every life thereafter. No exceptions. His soul mate would require assistance. And if this one did…Help her in any way? Or that way? A foolish Time Guardian would only dare to help Katie without confirmation of the metaphysical match. And only if a High Priestess stepped into the room and declared her worthy of donning Druidess robes, literally sanctioning the match. Then there'd be something to think about. Truth and sweet soft skin. Alas, there are no tales of High Priestesses in this time. Members of both Time-Guardian Orders generally avoided the stagnan
t cultural period like the plague. Centurian maidens were just as deadly. Poisonous to the core. And Katie is one of them.
****
Katie shook off Murdo's tingling stare and studied Annie's low black pumps. Pointed toe…Torture, she noted. The wide heels graded into narrow tips. Girlie shoes. Those shackles resonated one word. Pain. I'd never wear pumps. Ever.
"Now, if you'll follow me. Tim wants to see if anyone else is about," Annie lilted.
The black pumps pivoted left.
Hairs prickled to chilly attention on my neck.
Maybe Timmy is here. Dead men are definitely safer dates than the living. And he came to visit. A ghost couldn't possibly leave a girl sobbing. Well, a spook is what we came for. I fell in behind Pam's purple T-shirt.
"What's wrong?" Pam asked.
Confess about how every man I dated was a creep? Right. I'm not good a picking men. I won't be at picking ghosts either. "I'm just a bit disturbed by the ghost."
"You don't have to lie to me. Remember, we spent two years rooming together in college." Pam leaned close. "Jennifer can't help herself. Some girls need the attention. She'll climb onto the plane tomorrow. We just can't let them be alone before then. After she's gone, you'll have your chance."
Now the corporate bulldog changes her warning bark about Murdo. Why? I stared at the conspiratorial glint in Pam's eye. "Now, why would I want a man I can't trust alone with Jennifer?"
Pam shrugged. "He seems harmless enough. Better than your cousin by far." She grabbed my forearm. "Come on. The best is yet to come."
Better can't be a marked improvement. We wove in and out of shadowy doorways, about empty chambers, through pockets of cold air and stuffy blackness, between amazing historical facts and intriguing conjecture.
The tour proved all but boring. Even without Tim scaring the crap out of anyone. That’s far better than a man using a woman and leaving her with the pain of inevitable rejection and loss.
A jingling version of Danny Boy broke the silence.
Annie reached beneath one side of her double-breasted jacket. "Excuse me for a moment. I've got a call." She produced a cell phone, disappeared through the dark doorway, and left us in a large room.
One. Two. Three. Counting the wall's stones has to waste time. Then, we came get this show on the road after the guide's phone call.
10 Timeless Heroes; A Time Travel Romance Boxed Set Page 81
