****
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Murdo's strong legs stride toward the staircase. There he goes. No. Don't leave. But I'd look like Jennifer if I asked him to stay. Then he'd find out about my virginal ass. Gads. I should have just had sex way back…And who knows if he's trustworthy. Really. Maybe, if we just talked a little, I'd determine if he was more romantic like Black Liam. And we'll have lots of alone time at the feast! I so needed lots of time alone at the feast. Time to straddle something. Preferably a Murdo.
The phone trilled, long and loud.
Who now? I dashed for the receiver, thrust the cool plastic to my ear, and turned to face the family room door just in case Sticky Fingers jumped on the opportunity to sneak up behind me. "Hello."
"Katie?" Pam's voice echoed like she was stranded at the bottom of a well.
A friendly voice. "Hi. You still on the plane?"
"Of course. I slept most of the afternoon. Thought I'd call since I didn't get to talk with you before we parted ways."
What is that all about? "About what?"
"You really can't remember," Pam's voice faded mid-sentence.
Oh no. "What?"
"Quiet and I'll tell you." Pam scolded.
Joy. A call from a friend who grouses. "What then?"
"Murdo. He's an angel. You were so drunk last night, puking drunk. He sat with you beside the toilet. Jennifer and I left for a while--"
Lord. What happened? I'm not a virgin. Anymore. What? "You left me with a strange man? What kind of friend leaves her vulnerable and unconscious buddy with a strange man?"
"Sh." The hissing noise was almost scratchy. "Katie, Murdo was holding you when I went back to check on you. You were fine, sleeping, and...well...talking."
Talking while drunk? Maybe I don't want to know. But, damn, Pam knows something. "What did I babble?"
"Don't get mad, Katie. I hate it when you get mad. It's like having to talk to myself."
Great. At least I'm a forceful angry bitch. "Tell me."
"You said Cousin John was all over you, holding you down, and that you didn't want to go home."
Something lodged in my throat.
Choked me. Forget dancing on tables! I used a megaphone to disclose all to the world.
"Are you there, Katie?"
Hopefully, I hadn't ruined my familial arrangement and apprenticeship. But the news was out. "Where else would I be?"
"Come on. Don't be angry. I just wanted you to know Murdo's a good guy."
"That's why you said he'd take care of me?"
"You've got to start trusting men, girl! Can't you see he's trustworthy by the look in his eyes? Jennifer and I were screaming jealous."
Whatever. "I'm a little stunned at the moment." To say the least.
"That's perfectly understandable. And if John bothers you again, you call me. I'll fly right over and clean house. Or Murdo will."
The statement didn't conjure a picture of Pam, hair tied beneath a bandana, pushing a broom, whistling the Leave it to Beaver theme song. And Uncle John took care of things. Enough.
"I'd better cut this call short," Pam giggled.
Why is she laughing now? "What's so funny?"
"There's a gorgeous Scotsman heading back to sit between Jennifer and I." Her voice faded to a whisper. "He doesn't call Jennifer 'Guinevere' either. He likes me."
Good. But…"Does he recite Robert Burns?"
"Give him a little time, Katie dear. Jennifer just fell asleep. Ciao."
The connection flat lined.
Like me. How am I going to deal with this grand revelation? I numbly replaced the receiver on the phone.
Pam knew about Sticky Fingers. Trust men? Great. Gads. Does everyone know everything about me? I gulped and glanced at the top of the stairs.
The hall light lit up the second floor.
Murdo. Murdo knows. Hey, Pam is engaged. And to think all the times the corporate bulldog harassed me about looking for Mr. Perfect in Scotland. Perhaps all Pam needed was an incredible Scotsman. Or a New Zealander. If Murdo pans out in the trustworthy department. I still have to see him in action. And now he'd have to act on what he knows to prove himself. I grabbed the hard broom handle and glanced in at the television.
The army of bottles on the coffee table indicated Sticky Fingers had cleaned out Iona's beer stash she kept in the refrigerator for company. My dear cousin leaned back, mouth gaping at the dark ceiling joists, snoring loud enough to call geese south for the summer. The man was more like a gaping black hole to Hell. It was only a matter of time before he sucked the shadows down from where they lurked around the beams. At least, I'd clean up the disaster he created. What an eyesore. Auntie Iona would have a heart attack walking in the door. The mess had to be straightened. I stepped in to clear away the beer bottles.
My gut sank.
Sticky Fingers laid in there. I shouldn't enter until morning. Until Sticky Fingers had gone to bed. It wouldn't take long to clean up the one room before setting off for the foundry. I spun to retrieve the broom, whisked the trails of potato chip crumbs into a pile, dumped the last dustpan full of debris into the kitchen garbage can, and decided to serve up the cobbler.
Iona would ask everyone how it tasted tomorrow. I piled one plate high with crispy-topped melt-in-your-mouth chunks of apple for Murdo. Then, crowned the golden mass with a scoop of white ice cream. Who wouldn't like that? Now to direct Murdo down to where both plates waited on the table. I climbed the steps to retrieve him from his room.
His door was closed. I rapped.
The knob squeaked and the door fell in on…Murdo, nude from the waist up, wearing John's black sweatpants.
Lightning strike me dead because my heart froze. That chest was well-forged gleaming steel. Tattooed steel. Etched with designs like an ancient chieftain's sword. A blue geometric spiral. A five-point star in a circle. I tried to inhale.
To no avail where I stood dwarfed beneath a muscled giant. If Iona was right, boys were fed oatmeal in massive quantities down in New Zealand. Lord. I am staring! At least, I hadn't contemplated attacking him. No. How were these situations handled Down Under? Down Under wasn't a good thought at all. Because handling things down under could imply sheets or a kilt! With him on top and me down under…I needed to figure out how I could get the foot out of my thought's mouth. Somehow, I managed to slide my gaze across his tight pants, accentuating the muscle of his bulging thighs.
At his jutting endowment. Not good. Now, did gentlemen have jutting endowments? Lord. I swallowed a lump.
Not his lump. Hell. Move gaze. I scanned the dusting of black hair curling upon his chest.
Up to where, unleashed from its binding, his dark hair hung in wet strands around his face, the ends curling into his chest.
His blue eyes looked gray beneath the bright unnatural lighting. "What is it, Katie?"
Why am I staring like this? Like Jennifer.
Heat scorched across my cheeks.
Hell, he could see the blush. "The crumble. You must come down and eat some. Auntie Iona will ask how it tasted tomorrow." Good save. I hope.
A grin stretched across his face. "I'll be right down." He reached out for the door, muscles playing beneath the light as he pushed the door shut.
The door thumped.
Good. I think. My magnificent view is blocked. Not good. I stood there a moment, gazing at the dark slab of wood.
To hurl myself against the door. Beg forgiveness for behaving like Jennifer? Force it open to apologize? What just happened? Gads, I had to get my act together. But, Murdo was as close to Mr. Right as possible minus the poetry recitation with that body.
Am I just lusting after that sculpted torso? Leave. Sit at the table. Eat crumble. Get your act together.
****
The cool wood of the door slipped beneath my palm as my hand fell away while closing the hatch. By the Gods, I should have cloaked myself before opening the door to Katie. But she had raked her wanton gaze over my body. And there had b
een no way to counter the physical reaction of my loin from lax to rock-hard. The fairies were to blame. Had to be. This assignment made me yearn for her. Assignments did that to a man.
My heart still yammered in my chest.
The organ was as stupid as my actions. Scaring her to death with my nudeness wasn't wise. Yet, the blush on her cheeks indicated one thing. She found me pleasing. Had the Gods found me a virgin bride in this century? Impossible. But who else would wed a Ring Master? Soul mates can't marry anyone except the one selected for them by the Runic Council of The Orders. Alas, for some reason, I had been marooned in this time to meet Katie. Whatever the reason. I can't let her down with behavior unbefitting a Druid. She deserved better.
Time to dress. With things she'd gathered for me. And she'd gaped up at me, her gaze roaming over my chest. And my badges of honor--tattoos earned with each of my time-travel jaunts. With a thrust of my head into the T-shirt, I pulled the stretchy hem down to my waist.
The fabric snapped, squeezing my shoulders and arms.
Choking the muscles. I'd just have to suffer. For her. I checked my appearance in the long rectangular mirror hanging on the inside of the closet door.
The damned erection thrust outward far too much for comfort. For a lass' comfort. The sight of it would frighten her away for good. I had to do camouflage the bulge. Scanning the room, I searched for anything that might assist.
But there was naught but a pair of short pants with a slit, undoubtedly Centurian attire for maiden pleasure, and socks. No way would I resort to strapping myself down with stockings. I wound up buckling the sporran into position, shifted the belted pouch until it pressed my inflation into submission, and turned to the mirror.
Positively ridiculous. I'd have to suffer. For duty's sake. I stepped into the upper passageway.
The cold planks squeaked beneath my bare feet.
Oh, for a seat to hide this ridiculous outfit in the kitchen.
The television still chattered over the snoring cousin.
Good. I rounded the corner, breaking into bright light.
Katie's blue gaze riveted upon me from where she sat at the table.
"Oh," she smiled, glancing down at my loin. "I didn't know New Zealanders were so fond of sporrans."
Not good. I pulled the closest chair across the slate floor and sank into its concealing safety beneath the tablecloth. "We love them." My attachment to the helpful bag tripled with each passing moment.
"I hope you're hungry. Auntie Iona will be happier the more cobbler you eat." She reached for a fork.
Easily done. Hunger always seemed an issue in time travel. Eat when you could became religion for Time Guardians.
"I was worried you filled up on beer with John." She scooped up a bite, peering sideways at me.
Almost suspiciously. "John emptied all but two of the bottles." The soused fool could retch all night. Alone. I popped a bite of apple between my lips. Tart but sweet. The pastry melted in my mouth. Divine. Auntie Iona had to be fey.
"Is it good?" Katie eyed me, holding the prongs of an empty fork high as if saluting wee Auntie Iona.
"Excellent. This Iona must be a goddess." I choked.
Had I said that? Not a good thing to joke about when required to hide the Gods were responsible for time travel.
"I'll tell her. She'll love that." Katie giggled, slipping another bite between her succulent lips.
What I'd give to taste that seductive mouth.
She placed her fork down. "Pam called."
"Oh?" I hadn't heard the telephone alarm. But Katie's sullen expression forewarned of something.
"Yes. She told me I was talking when I was drunk." She waved a hand as if to dismiss the entire affair.
Impossible. "Aye. You did some rambling."
She inhaled sharply, glancing at me sideways. "She said I spoke of my cousin and how he harassed me."
"Aye." Truth was best. Even more so with this delicate topic.
"Well, did you react the way you did in the pub because of what I said?" Her eyebrows knotted.
Sometimes a man had nothing to work with but Truth. "Why else would I have behaved so?"
Her pursed lips cocked left with the revelation.
Spare her nothing. "I'll not stand by and let a man distress a lass so."
She watched me, blinking.
Oh the innocence in those wishing-well eyes. What am I to do? Forget a staring match. I focused on eating crumble.
****
If only I could coax a word from Murdo's lips as he devoured his spiced apples. We could chat. Get to know each other better. Especially since he continued to prove the intriguing gentleman. But Auntie Iona tricked me into feeding the man amazing food. Evil genius I suppose. He's sitting here. Just eating. I swallowed my last sweet bite. "Would you like a second helping?"
He slid his blue gaze back from the refrigerator and wagged his head.
Hopefully, he had his fill and would talk more now. "John will eat all of it as soon as he wanders into the kitchen," I warned.
Murdo scooped up his own last glistening bite. "'Tis all right. The crumble may dilute the alcohol he's ingested."
True. But he was quicker when sober. "I'll wash the dishes up." Before John sobered. She took Murdo's plate, strode to the sink, placed the dishes inside, and turned on the hot water.
Murdo appeared at my side.
What is he doing? I met his resolute gaze.
"I know he's a nuisance but try to control yourself. I don't trust him."
Too kind and observant. Mr. Almost Perfect. Oh well. I nodded. "All right."
"I'm off to bed." He stepped back and pivoted toward the dark doorway.
Why can't we talk? Oh to find a way to kiss him. Without wrapping peanut-butter legs around him like Jennifer.
Murdo disappeared into the murky hallway.
Gone. Why not? The good ones were taken. Or they'd gotten away. It's time to return to the monotony of a bangers-and-beans life.
Chapter 13
I can't pretend I[m stuck in a bad dream anymore. The dull buzzing nagging at my sleepy brain crescendoed like the approaching footfalls of my ho-hum life. Bloody clock heralding a reality of the dreary monotony of the typical bangers-and-beans life of common folk. Why do I have to get out of bed? Why? I kicked off the strangling covers and threw both feet to the soft carpet, forcing myself upright, and waited, smacking pasty lips until my eyes opened.
Good morning, dreary room. And not-so-sexy pajamas. Still alone. Murdo had thanked me for the cobbler and gone straight to his room, closing the door. How miserably gallant. Why can't he just kiss me? Because he's chivalrous. Bordering on perfection.
Don't lie, Katie. Because he isn't interested. Good-looking men who don't recite poetry only find peanut-butter legs interesting.
The quiet room didn't counter with reason.
What's new? I rose and rooted around for work clothes.
A blue-jean-and-T-shirt ensemble was most fashionable in twenty-first-century forges. The trend was certain to turn off a perfectly-sculpted man like Murdo. But surely it would. Now, why can't I be more glamorous? I glanced into the full-length mirror hanging inside the closet door.
Fashion with that ratty hair or crusty eyes?
That bitch in the mirror stuck out her tongue.
Whatever. I veered for the bathroom.
Nobody walked the dismal hall. Sticky Finger's door still gaped open. His mussed sheets still laid as they had last night. He must have slept on the couch. Hopefully, justice sentenced him with a stiff neck.
****
Murdo's eyes shot open where he stretched out nude, upon the soft bed, beneath a scrap of a sheet. In total darkness. Damnable irony in that I could use some enlightening. A Post-Modern alchemist would embrace the chance to face darkness though. However, rising for the day seemed right.
Light fluttered beneath his door in the hallway.
Was it the vile cousin sneaking in upon my maiden? Or a wisp of Truth beckon
ing to smack some sense into me? The flooring didn't squeak, however. The load the planking bore is light. Undoubtedly Katie walked there. Interesting irony. Truth and its sucker punch. I slid my feet from beneath the sheets and swung them to the carpet.
Better to ready himself for a day filled with the woes of Post-Modern alchemy in dealing with a bent sword. No other Brother had managed to manipulate fairy metal in the Brotherhood's quest to unlock all the Universe's secrets. Who could do as he wished with a fairy sword? Brothers only used them after their creation. To cross time and space. With the help of the sun. I turned to the drapes.
A faint gray glow struggled to break through where the two curtains met in the center of the window.
Dawn. Maybe Lugh could work some magic with some holy reverence on this end. And a look from twenty-first-century Fort William sweetened the deal. I made for the door, and one flip of the light switch’s nub cast the room in blinding light.
My eyes acclimated quickly.
A few strokes of a comb tidied my tangled mane, leaving me free to tie the hair back. Ready to greet the rising sun with a humble prayer. Perhaps Lugh would gift me with a bit of nidium-working magic. I pinned my tartan at my shoulder to the white T-shirt, strapped on my sporran and sword, drew two clean stockings up to my knees and secured the leather shafts my boots, and headed downstairs to the lavatory.
A few swigs of water cleansed my palate. I washed the sleep from my eyes, dabbed my face dry with a soft thick towel, and passed through the front door into a chilly Scottish morning.
Good day, Mother World.
Mist hung like ribbons woven in the nearby treetops. The sky brightened with orange slightly on the horizon above the rounded canopies.
Priceless. Dawns on the mother world came few and far between for Order members on planet Scotia Major. But sunrises were always accessible with time travel. Just rarely scheduled on the duty roster. This morning was worth a thousand on Scotia Major. I headed east.
10 Timeless Heroes; A Time Travel Romance Boxed Set Page 93
