Her heart raced.
Not that boar's head. "No," I howled. "I don't wanna fly on a silver platter."
"Don't scream, Katie," Pam shushed. "The other guests are asleep."
Who cares about them? I grabbed for something to hold onto.
Big muscled arms. "Don't let the ghost take me."
"It isn't a ghost. It's Murdo. Open your eyes. You'll see."
Murdo? I tried to open my eyes. And saw a huge sparkling grin. Teeth. Boar or Murdo, thank goodness the room brightened. With light.
Murdo stood in white a bathroom. "Are you ill, wee one?"
Me sick? Oh, he is so sweet. Just the way he needs to be. "No. I love you, Murdo."
His grin faded to a smile. "I'll set you down now."
The world shifted.
Cold hard floor cooled my palms and ass.
Murdo knelt before me beside the shiny white commode.
Where did that come from? But who cares. His kilt was so wonderful. If I leaned over, I could look up it the way he squatted. But that wouldn't be nice. Would it? I leaned my floppy head back and smiled at him. "Why don't more Scots wear kilts?"
"Lord, you're drunk," Pam growled, shifting her footing beside Jennifer in the doorway.
The doorway swayed like the Tower of Pisa. "Stand still," I snarled.
My stomach began to churn, surging with power.
"Oh." I grabbed my mouth.
Murdo shoved me toward the toilet.
"Ew," Jennifer squealed. "God, Katie!"
Yes. Pray to God. I can use a prayer. I gripped the cold hard seat and heaved at the clear water.
****
How not to flinch as my maiden gagged over the edge of the commode? Pitiful. She looked miserable. Lost in her cups. But I couldn't abandon her in her time of need. She could barely sit up. And she is my assignment. I'd do whatever is required of a husband. Like trying to look at the tile flooring or the white walls. Anything to keep my supper down.
"I told you not to drink that scotch. You'll be miserable tomorrow," Red scolded. "Not to mention, mixing booze is bad news."
All that babbling won't clear my maiden's head. "Leave us," I commanded without looking at Red.
Pam's hot stare bore a hole through me. "I can't leave her alone with you. She's my best friend."
What a point to admire.
My maiden squeaked, weeping.
And pushed away from the toilet. Poor dust mote. I drew her floppy body across my lap.
A bit of vomit dribbled down her chin.
Red pulled a white towel from a wire shelf, turned on the water, wet the cloth, and knelt beside Katie. "Here we go." She wiped her friend's chin. "You'll feel better soon. Black Liam shouldn't have given you all that whisky either."
What's a drop of whisky or scotch when she'd drank the castle dry?
My maiden suddenly threw her chin back and squalled.
The horrible piercing sound would be my death. What caused it? I needed to turn the cacophony off.
She suddenly stopped caterwauling. Her head dangled over my arm. She sobbed.
"What's wrong, Katie?" Red begged. "Tell us. We'll make it stop."
"I don't want to go home." Katie turned her cheek against my chest but wouldn't open her eyes to reply.
What could make her so upset? At least, the whisky would loosen the reason from those burgundy lips.
Red inhaled deeply. "I told you to come back to the States with me. You said no."
Red had? Why? This soused mite loved the heathered hills.
"I don't want to go back to the States," she snarled.
Who would when Scotland was so dear?
"Then why don't you want to go home?" Red begged.
"Nobody likes me. Only Cousin John. And he's a bastard." Katie growled her cousin's name and aimlessly flapped an arm through the air.
Red shot Murdo a straight-lipped grimace.
Conspiratorial. No, accusatory.
"Why is your Cousin John a bastard?" Pam asked.
"He hits on me. Holds me down."
Never would I forget the look of disbelief in Red's eyes. And what kind of animal is this cousin to do such a thing? No man would ever touch a Ring Master's charge. The man will die.
"I knew it," Red muttered.
How's a man to listen to this madness? I almost spat flames. I'd tear the castle apart if forced to listen to another damning word. Red needed to leave before conjuring more unpalatable Truth from the soused mote in my lap. I made eye contact with her. "Take Guinevere and sleep in the other chamber. This one will be sick for some time."
"But." Red fidgeted, gaping. "Well."
Will everyone argue with a Ring Master? "Go," I barked a bit too roughly.
"All right. But mark my words. You hurt one hair on Katie's head, and I'll kill you myself." Red rose and headed for the doorway.
Threat received and understood. I turned back to my charge. "Do not cry, Katie." I petted her soft golden crown of hair.
The outer door thumped.
Alone with my maiden. What more could a man ask for? I pulled her against my chest, holding her tightly until the tears quieted, and leaned back against the hard wall.
But what of this bastard? A cousin? Ring Masters were trained for battle and time travel. To protect their wives. This I know as Truth. I can handle this problem however I chose. The man would die if he so much as looked at Katie wrong again. And yet, the gentle sound of the sleeping maiden seemed to mute my anger.
She needs reason. Logic. A rational guardian. And I must give her that. To make her feel safe again. No wonder she's so protective of her thoughts and doesn't fight the other females. She keeps a cap on her troubles so not to leak any information. Why? Because she was orphaned? And this century is no place for a homeless female. But why had the Orders brought me to her? Who is Katie Innis? I shut my eyes and thought about the possibilities.
A woman's scream shook the silence.
Jolted me awake from a deep sleep.
Chapter 9
Sitting in the lavatory, holding one's maiden isn't a bad thing. But who in the bloody Christian's Hell caterwauled in the distance? Probably Guinevere. I gritted my teeth.
The bedchamber's outer door slammed open and pounded against the wall.
A screaming woman thundered into Katie's bedchamber beyond my view.
"Dammit, Jennifer. Slow down," Red yelled at her heels.
"I'm not staying in there without Murdo."
The outer door clicked shut. Something shifted in the shadows beyond the bathroom doorway.
"Be quiet," Red grumbled. "People paid a lot of money to sleep here. They didn't pay to listen to you scream."
Well, the wench's howling did add to the spiritual ambiance of the place.
Guinevere raced through the lavatory doorway in no more than a wee white shirt and a tinier pair of shorts. She halted in front of the sink, eyeing me with surprise, her ample breasts heaving with emotion.
Was it so shocking to find me holding Katie? A real man would choose a good woman. What did the slattern expect of me?
Red slipped through the doorframe in an identical costume, but far less curvy, stepping toward me, knelt, and petted Katie's brow. "It's been three hours. How long has she been asleep?"
That long? "Most of that time." I studied Katie's serene mask.
"Let's put her in the bed." Pam shot me a determined stare.
Bloody Universe. There'd be no swaying Red. I cradled Katie close, rose, and headed for the bed where Guinevere pulled down the bedclothes.
"Here." The vixen stepped backward.
Red helped me tuck Katie into the soft bedding and turned to work at the laces of her hiking boots.
"It's getting cold again," Guinevere whined, nervously surveying the room.
Was it? Maybe.
Red inhaled sharply. "Quiet. There's no ghost in this room."
Spirits tended to get around. That's what the tourists wanted. Isn't it?
"That's no
t what the waiter said," Guinevere insisted.
"Punch her, Murdo. Knock her out so we can get some sleep."
Guinevere whirled into a sprint, raced around the bed, jumped beneath the covers, and closed her eyes.
All the better. Red would have made me club the wench. And Ring Masters didn't think highly of men who beat females.
"We're going down to sleep in the other room," Red said. "You look after Katie, Jennifer." She turned a dictatorial brow my direction. "Let's go."
That's a battle I couldn't win, even if I wanted to. Self-medicated beyond consciousness, Katie would sleep through the ghostly antics of the night. I went with her.
****
I can't be dreaming with this pounding head and painful bladder that prickled like a thousand pins jabbed inside it. But everything else is oddly soft. Friendly enough. At least, I'm in a soft bed. If only the comfort reduced the throbbing inside my skull.
Someone whimpered.
Is somebody crying? "Who's there?" The way my thoughts seemed to pulse, I should be whimpering.
"Sh. Be quiet or Pam will kick our butts."
Well, if Jennifer is talking, I'm not dreaming. "What time is it?"
"Five twenty-two. Go back to sleep."
A whispering Jennifer is odd. What is up? I managed to crack my eyelids.
The room was dark.
My bladder hurt.
Bathroom or bust. That's a good motto. Bracing both hands against the mattress, I pushed upward.
The world whirled.
Beyond control. I couldn't right myself.
"What are you doing?" Jennifer snarled with a whisper.
The bed rocked, throwing me backward.
No. I'd wet the bed. Um, couldn't afford that kind of humiliation. I heaved back upward. "I'm going to the bathroom."
"Don't leave me."
God. Can't a person go to the bathroom?
A warm hand grabbed my elbow and pulled me back into the quicksand of the bed.
"I'm going too."
"No." I wrenched my arm free. "I can go to the bathroom myself."
"I didn't say you couldn't. That damn harp keeps strumming." Jennifer climbed across the bed.
The mattress bobbed erratically.
Hell. It's all I can do to hang on for dear life. And the harp? "What harp?"
"The ghost. That Buchanon woman."
Where is the bathroom door in the room's inky black darkness? "I don't hear any music. My head hurts, Jennifer. If you want to stay alive, you'd better wait here on the bed."
"B-ut--"
"No buts." I slid my feet to the cold wooden floor and scanned the darkness for the bathroom. The doorway proved impossible to make out. So, I groped along, bumping into the wall, and scrabbled both palms over the slick surface until feeling the doorframe.
At last, the nubby switch poked my fingers. Blessed plastic. I flipped on a blinding light, squinting, and turned back to Jennifer.
She cringed on the bed, hugging her bare knees to her chest.
Terrified. But a screaming bladder and a throbbing head won out over helpless friends. "I'll leave the door open." I shuffled to the toilet, unzipped my blue jeans, and sat on the cold seat.
Sitting felt wonderful.
When finished, my aching head didn't want to rise. I had probably sat there an hour. Especially since I woke up with a jolt. But nobody seemed the wiser. I kicked my pants off and stumbled toward the bed, leaving the bathroom light on.
Jennifer scooted back under the covers on her side of the bed and buried her head under her pillow.
Slowly, I leaned back into the soft bedding, into the position the groans of my headache seemed to fight against the least, and closed my eyes.
Minutes later, the sun peeked through the curtains as if trying to jab railroad ties through my eye sockets.
Someone leaning overhead.
I flinched.
Christ!
"Sorry. Just checking to see if you're still alive," Pam declared.
"Fine." I waved a hand to reinforce the message.
My pounding head had other plans.
Just forget this insanity.
My body leaned.
Backward. So damned backward. I closed my eyes just went with the rest of the world.
"Gads. Your breath smells like sewage," Pam snapped.
What did she expect when my head felt like it was filled with explosives? "Sorry."
"Jennifer and Murdo are down eating the full Scottish breakfast."
Fried bread sucked. So did all other foods.
My gut lurched.
No vomiting. I covered my mouth.
"Not hungry for Scottish eggs, Kate?"
Hell no. Nor Scottish anything. I gulped hard.
Pam sighed, long and loudly. "Guess I'll go down and join them. Think you can shower while I'm gone?"
Anything to shut you up. "Maybe."
"Christ! Can you warn me before you speak next time?"
"Whatever."
"I'll turn on the hot water."
The sound of receding footsteps faded.
The world started pulling on my shoulders.
Pulling me backward. I propped an arm up behind me and tried to look upright. Enough to trick Pam into leaving.
The shower sputtered to life.
Something about that sound made me want to hiss. Kick. Go back to bed.
Pam returned, poking, and tugging. "Come on. I'll help you get into the shower."
Before more than seconds passed, hot water massaged my back. Pam was kind enough to brush out my braid before pushing me into the shower. The perfume of shampoo and crème rinse were so inspirational that I reached for the razor and managed to shave the porcupine quills in my armpits without slicing any major arteries. Legs would have to wait until tomorrow. Bending over is out of the question. I dried off and dressed in clothing that had miraculously appeared via fairy God-sister Pam.
Something rejuvenating about the shower allowed me to sit on the bed and comb the tangles from my hair.
The door creaked.
Pam entered, carrying a plate and a tall glass of water.
Not food.
My gut twisted.
"You should eat some toast and take some aspirin." Pam placed the dishes on the bedside table.
Eat? Impossible.
Pam dropped two small round pills into my palm. "I'll pack your things. Down the hatch."
Swallow something? I stared at the tiny white pills that suddenly looked the size of dinner plates.
Pam thrust the cool hardness of the glass of water into the knuckles of my empty hand.
Corporate bulldogs are bitches. I popped the pills into my mouth, emptied the glass, and handed it back to my towering babysitter. "Don't hang your shingle until we see if your cure works."
"Funny," Pam droned. "Now, the others are downstairs, waiting. Jennifer won't come back up." Pam giggled. "And Murdo is lurking. You find your perky button and figure out how to walk down the stairs."
****
My maiden descended the stairs on her own accord. Slowly. But by her own means. I couldn't help but smile. My charge had beaten the whisky and beer.
Katie's gaze riveted upon the treacherous stairs at her boots.
Red bustled toward her.
As if completely unaware of Katie's condition. Gods' jest, if she fell. I assumed a helpful position at the bottommost step. At least in the way to catch a falling maiden.
Red brushed past Katie with an armload of suitcases, heading straight out the door. But Katie kept her footing.
Took her time. Not a bad choice given the war undoubtedly waging inside her body. And she can have all the time in the world as long as she comes to me.
Katie rolled her blue gaze up, noticing me where I stood but three steps away. "Hello, Murdo."
"Good day, Katie." I extended a palm. Just in case.
Her next step was shaky.
Not good. I thrust the hand farther.
Katie
reached for my offered assistance, gliding warm silken skin across my palm.
A man never truly lived until he had his maiden to safeguard. To touch. To hold. Little does she know that hand is hers forever. If only she realized.
Bonnie fingers squeezed my palm with a fair amount of strength.
Not enough to save her arse if she fell. I pulled her toward me.
Carefully, steadying her next two steps, bringing her head just beneath my chin.
She didn't look up, swaying a bit.
Probably can't after sousing herself ill. "I'll help you to the car now."
The pale white-blonde mane of hers had darkened with moisture, hanging neatly combed.
"Thank you." She still didn't dare venture a glance up at me.
Not after her little chemistry experiment. So she learned a valuable lesson in drinking spirits. Those chemistry lessons stuck with a person for a lifetime. "Take my arm. And, let's take it slow."
"Good idea." She took a step.
The other females pushed through the front door, veering off to the counter to tend to the payment for the lodging. I led Katie's shuffling form toward the vehicle, across the threshold, into warm late morning sunlight.
Just another glorious day. Any day would be glorious walking hand-in-hand with one's intended Sadly, she won't have much to do with me given she was sober. Why? Maybe she'd continue spilling her innermost thoughts today. I could only be so lucky.
At the car, she took her time, sinking, sliding onto the upholstery like a limp, steamed spinach leaf.
Och! How she would recall this day for the rest of her life. Poor lass.
****
Note for future reference…hangovers equal beyond bad and are foolish self-torture. Seriously, my head feels like a ton of lead. I gripped the armrest on the car door.
A draft whisked through the cab.
Not the ghostly-induced kind. Just a breeze kicked up by Pam and Guinevere sinking into the front seats.
Both peered back at me.
"Ready to go?" Pam asked.
The car rumbled to life.
My death is imminent the way the car thundered. Rattling me with a vicious tremble. The bloody thing moved, tossing me about the backseat until all I could do to survive was curl into a ball. As much as possible. There's precious little room in this blasted clown car. Brits needed to beef up their petroleum industry so they can afford to drive SUVs.
10 Timeless Heroes; A Time Travel Romance Boxed Set Page 88
