10 Timeless Heroes; A Time Travel Romance Boxed Set

by P. L. Parker, Beth Trissel, L. L. Muir, Skhye Moncrief, Sky Purington, Nancy Lee Badger, Caroline Clemmons, Bess McBride, Donna Michaels

  The wenches' tiresome chattering faded behind me.

  "A wee hasty there, weren't you?" Murdo timbered over the slow whine of the violin.

  Now that's putting things mildly. "Why?" I peered up at him, noticing the bejeweled chandelier sparkling overhead.

  He halted, gazing down at me, touching my chin with one finger. "I'm yours, Katie Innis."

  "Wh-at?" The stupid question blurted from my lips before I could think. My gaze slid from his insistent brow, down to the black moustache flanking his wonderful upper lip.

  Oh what that lip could do to me.

  "Must a man repeat himself?" His warm fingers curled around my hand.

  To hear those words again. I stared at the lips, willing them to speak.

  The violin livened in the distance.

  He lifted my hand, curling my fingers around his arm. His lips fluttered. "Let's finish this delivery and complete what we started at sunrise."

  Completion was the perfect word. Sliding my gaze across his moustache, over his pointed nose, up to his eyes, I found his gentle stare absolutely trustworthy.

  "Always." He shot me a wink.

  Always sounds pretty good. Why am I inclined to believe him? Was New Zealand even on the planet? It couldn't be. New Zealand men weren't anything like North Americans and Scotsmen. But there he stood in full Highland dress, resolute in his countenance. Could he be real? He had held me when I retched. Warded off Cousin John. Recited poetry at sunrise. Murdo is a real knight in colorful tartan.

  Murdo stepped toward the Great Hall.

  The sound of my girlie shoes effortlessly clipped along. Landscape paintings whisked by where they hung on plastered stone walls. The end of the hallway mushroomed. The milling crowd fluttered beyond the rectangular opening. Banquet tables waited beyond. The stained-glass windows of knights presenting swords in every direction. The musicians on the small stage. Duke Ronat spared no expense in his castle away from his castle. What life must be like to have so much money one could maintain a family heirloom property in eastern Scotland and an estate in Hawaii?

  We crossed the threshold and paused before crossing the enormous bustling space.

  Where is Ronat? I scanned through kilted men, bodice-sporting women, and fabrics of every hue for the host. The duke stood beside one of two enormous fireplaces, his hands behind his back, in heated discussion with men. Two enormous white hounds lounged at the duke's black loafers.

  "There he is." I thrust my nose in the duke's direction.

  Duke Ronat turned a smile toward us as if he heard me.

  "He looks as sneaky as a seal," Murdo noted.

  I almost laughed. Ronat meant seal in Gaelic. The Gaelic meaning of ronat isn't something everyone knows. But seals implied magic. The animals could supposedly guide people from this world to the Happy Otherworld of the dead.

  "Shall we go?" Murdo tugged my arm.

  The men around the duke arced outward, stretching into a line of swaggering beret-like tams with bobbing feathers. I strode along with clicking heels.

  Quiet shoes would have sufficed.

  Ladies closed in beyond the men's tartan covered shoulders, blocking off all avenues of my escape with Murdo.

  So much for kissing in the garden.

  The duke sauntered like a panther with a cocked grin, almost sizing us up. "Lady Innis, it is so good of you to personally deliver my sword."

  Yeah. Right. "I couldn't refuse my uncle's request." Leaning forward, I curtsied, my knee wobbling. Why in the heck couldn't I curtsey? This is the absolutely last time I wear girlie shoes.

  The duke's scrutiny shifted to Murdo.

  Duke Ronat stood erect with the stance of an eagle. Those sea eagles with nine-foot wingspans in the western lochs of Scotland were awfully intimidating.

  ****

  Staring into the familiar coal black gaze of my maiden's duke, I knew something was definitely fishy along the timeline. I'd seen this duke's picture many times during studious vespers. He's a man of legendary proportions. To twenty-first Centurians, this is the only man allowed to maintain a private army in all of Great Britain. Now, what Morganna meant about seeking out Brothers in 2004 finally surfaces. And Duke Ronat. A seal. No less than a fairy in his birthright. A slippery warrior selkie now rescuing marooned Ring Masters. I should have guessed Brothers would be wherever this seal is. And just how many more Brothers are here? I scanned the men in the crowd.

  Could they be Ring Masters?

  Turning to Katie, The Seal smiled. "We are most fortunate you graced us with your presence, Lady Innis. Who have you brought to our wee gathering?"

  Katie's grip tightened around my arm. "This is my friend, Mr. Murdo McEwen of New Zealand."

  Her steady voice didn't hint the discomfort that her unwavering tight grasp conveyed.

  The Seal extended a palm. his upturned cuff revealing a steely wrist.

  One that could latch onto whatever it chose. To test it for the secret handshake . I accepted the offering.

  The Seal clenched my palm tight. "Welcome to my home, Murdo McEwen. We rarely have guests with an authentic look about them." The Seal's grip loosened and his hand slipped away. But his gaze remained riveted upon mine.

  Why the inspection? A Ring Master would have offered the Masonic handshake. Or a conspiratorial wink. He isn't a Brother. "Thank you, Duke Ronat."

  The Seal perched his hands upon his hips while flames danced beyond his legs in the monstrous fireplace, almost casting his form in murky darkness. "How does my rapier feel?"

  A man would be wise to heed the omen in the man's dark silhouette and consider the Duke's shadowy form a sign to take heed. "'Tis a handsome piece with the weight in the hilt." Ceremoniously or not, I knew better than to draw a sword in a huddle of armed men. "Shall I unsheathe it?"

  The Seal's features brightened. "Please."

  Katie released her hold on my arm.

  Very well. I carefully slid the blade from my belt. The last thing I needed was to cut the belt and fancy the audience a good look at a Ring Master's arse.

  Firelight glinted from the honed metal.

  I turned the hilt in my palm, handing over the butt in an unthreatening manner.

  The Seal took the pommel. "You handle a sword like a man well-versed in the subject, Mr. McEwen."

  Ring Masters are. The duke has to know. "Thank you."

  "So." The Seal glanced back and forth between the blade and Murdo. "Where is your weapon?"

  "I am afraid," Katie piped with an almost-barking manner, "it is at the foundry awaiting my attention."

  The Seal cast a serious glance sideways at my betrothed. "The blade is certainly miserable this evening."

  The compliment could have been backhanded. Bawdy. Better to swallow the urge to rip out the duke's larynx.

  The Seal turned to the quiet audience. "What do you say, lads? Shall someone test me and my new blade?" He tossed the sword back and forth between his hands as if the weapon was harmless.

  My gut flopped.

  Why did my intuition speak? Because Ring Masters aren't keen on advertising their skill. Who will volunteer? My gaze prowled through the ring of spectators.

  "Let me at him!" A stout Scot with salt-and- pepper sideburns bullied through the crowd. "I'll test that edge, Duke."

  The throng of patient Scots erupted with cacophonous ribbing.

  Grinning wildly, The Seal held the silver tip high, as if the raucous jibes grabbed at the glinting blade, and stepped toward the center of the room.

  So loud. So annoying, this game these men played. Even the hounds sprang to their feet and trotted in pursuit of the duke, tails wagging.

  The Seal turned to the large dogs. "No, lads. Sit by the fire."

  Katie's fingers encircled my arm. "They'll parry a bit," she whispered. "Then, we'll eat and roll the bones. Afterwards, we're free to leave."

  Roll the bones?

  The room grew quiet.

  What now? I scanned the audience encircling the two sword
smen in a choking throng.

  "Come with me." Katie pulled my arm.

  All the better. A Ring Master's skill with a sword is best kept a secret. But what is she up to now? "Where are we going?"

  She veered toward the corridor. "As far away from those insane men as I can get."

  "Why?"

  She rolled her eyes and plowed onward. "They love to put me, a woman, on display with a sword after the men tire of each other. I can't stand the teasing."

  "They harass a lass?" I'd take up a sword on her behalf, no matter the risk of revealing my Ring Master training. Maybe the crowd would be none the wiser.

  Katie halted, spun, and with a twisted mask of disbelief. "A lass?" she sneered. "You want to fight, Mr. McEwen? I'll shave the New Zealand ass of yours in a heartbeat."

  "I meant no insult, wee Katie." Lasses. I pushed her scowl toward the doorway. "Let's not hear what hasn't been said."

  "Hasn't been said, my ass." Luckily, she stomped toward the hall, her shoes clanking loud enough to guide the musicians' melody. Three steps down the hall, she spun, threw her back against a wall.

  Preventing any further guidance I could provide from behind.

  Those wee maiden's lips curled up in a sinister smile. "After spending a month trying to choke back my opinions with my friends on vacation, it's time to uncork the hurricane, Murdo. So, I'm thinking you owe me a kiss for that let's-not- hear-what-hasn't-been-said crack."

  By the Universe, she harbored the wit of a Druidess. But kissing with an audience? I glanced up and down the hall.

  The Amie wench still eyeballed me from the entry.

  Kissing in front of the woman isn't a good plan. I turned back to Katie's arched brow. "Must I disgrace you publicly at this feast?"

  Her furrowed brow softened. "Disgrace?"

  Wee compliments could move mountains. "Aye. Shame you by making them think you're a slattern."

  Her curious eyebrows squared. "Slattern?"

  One would think in the computer age that these centurions wouldn't have such a limited vocabulary. "Trollop."

  "Oh?" She scanned her surroundings with a thoughtful mask, obviously rethinking the situation. "Well then--" she smiled, hooking her fingers on my elbow again, "I think I need some fresh air."

  She'd get her kiss. And I'd pay the price for speaking rashly. So went the life of a husband. Time to get used to the future.

  ****

  Ushering Mr. Perfect along the garden path where tiny brass lanterns containing flickering candlelight hung from hooks along the concrete walk really settled my irritation. The lanterns sparkled like jewelry. So beautifully. Magically. And the shadowy nooks of the garden are so close. Right over there. Where I can secretly collect my kiss under the cloak of darkness. "You know, Murdo?"

  "Aye?"

  The timbre in his voice set my heart pounding.

  The night's chill receded from the threatening drumbeat. What a perk. I gazed at his profile.

  He glanced at me just for a moment but went right back to some odd vigilance he held.

  Nice. He's so protective. Or maybe too protective. Shouldn't he shower me with his affections now? These New Zealanders are odd. Too distanced from the Scottish heritage. "Nothing will attack us in the garden."

  We passed a ten-foot conical shrub. A large black shadow stretched beyond the bush, cutting through the garden's lamplight.

  Perfect. Cloaking darkness. I pulled Murdo off the trail into the dark void.

  He scoffed. "Your uncle told me to take care of you. What do you think I'm doing?"

  Do I dare tempt fate? Why not? "I don't know, Murdo. Tell me what you're doing?"

  The shadow completely engulfed us. But light glowing beyond his shoulders sketched out his wonderful profile.

  "Ka-tie In-nis, I don't like your tone."

  Maybe I don't care for his. I laid my palms against the hard undulating chest impossible to erase from my memory. Right beneath the thin warm linen of his shirt.

  His heart thundered.

  Hopefully, that’s the drum of desire playing?

  A whiff of cinnamon tickled my nose.

  "Ka-tie." His chest rose and fell beneath my palms.

  "You called me my love." She searched for his eyes in the darkness.

  Am I nuts searching for wisps of a dream in the inky black of night? Something has to remind me I'm not insane. Something in those shadows. In his face. "You said you are mine, always." I leaned into him, running my palms down the delicious hard stacked ridges of his ribs.

  I could really nibble a rib…Or lean into him to rub up against a turkey leg. Big honking drumstick! But he'd have to cough up some information first. Just enough to let me know all is well between us. That we have the same idea of a future together. "Tell me what you're doing, Murdo." Because I know what I'm about to do. Touch some really hard muscle. Maybe squeeze it. Create a good healthy memory to snuggle with when I'm alone at night. My hands followed the bend of those hard bones to the curved length of his firm back, down to his smooth belt, onto the firm roundness of his buttocks hidden beneath the drape of his kilt's scratchy wool.

  He snatched my hands away, stretching my arms as far as possible from him. "Not here, Katie. Not when we must go back inside before those people. They're Scots. They're neither blind nor stupid," he patronized.

  Wait? Again? Why? He confessed he wanted me. Hadn't he? Everyone kissed and had sex around the world. Why not here? Now? "Why won't you tell me what you're doing?"

  His dark form leaned forward.

  Toward me.

  A bit of stray light caught the turn of his nose, slipping up the bridge until he vanished again. His warm soft lips brushed mine only to flutter away. "I'm going to love you forever, Katie Innis."

  Mr. Perfect just said...I can't breathe. "Murdo," I managed to squeeze out.

  Tears warmed my eyes.

  "Aye?" The darkness hummed.

  Oh. My. God. I've lost my mind. But this is it. I've just got to put my neck on the chopping block. "I know we've only known each other for three days, but I love you too. Am I crazy?"

  ****

  Her words reverberated louder than cannon fire inside my head. And there's only so much a man can take. I grabbed her, clutching the wee mite's curves against my chest, managing to think among the racket of chaotic points banging this way and that in my mind. Time for the binding. For melding our hearts together for eternity. I reached for the soft warmth of her velvety cheek.

  Cool wetness smeared my palm.

  She cries for our love? I couldn't see her expression cloaked in shadow. "Don't cry, Katie."

  "I can't help it." She sniffed. "It hurts."

  "What? It hurts?"

  "I can't stand not being with you." She rubbed her cheek into the cloth covering my chest. "I'm gonna die, Murdo. Kiss me."

  The insistence in her voice pleaded for something. Yet, I can't permit her dishonor before the gathering. Those Scots would see right through us. But a kiss? I safe. Tears cooled my fingers as I slid my palm along the curve of her chin. "Hush." I brushed the tears away from her velvet skin with my lips.

  Wee lips latched onto mine.

  The sound of laughter rolled across the garden like an approaching fog.

  Bloody Universe. Fate heckling a man, no less. I jolted up to listen.

  "They're here, somewhere," the wench Amie lilted.

  "Why is it always something?" Katie snarled in the darkness. "Someone's out to keep us apart."

  Maybe so. I squeezed her tight, released her curves, and tried not to chuckle. "Just an hour or two, Katie. You've naught but a few minutes left to call yourself a maiden."

  "A few minutes sure can span an eternity."

  Too much time-travel irony nested in those words. "If you only knew how true those words were. Come on." I felt for her arm. "Back inside. Where you're safe from me."

  Katie snorted. "You've got that one backwards."

  Good. There'd be no fight during the binding.

&nbs
p; ****

  Before half an hour passed, I sat beside Mr. Perfect at the enormous banquet table where huge silver candelabras sported thin white tapers and their dancing golden flames between me and that wench Amie. Just ignore the snipe across the table, Katie.

  The closest candelabra's obliging candles served double duty. Broke up the annoying woman's mas enough I could pretend she wasn't there.

  My gut snarled.

  So ladylike. How embarrassing.

  Roasted meat perfumed the room.

  Perfect timing. My mind is throwing the word perfect around a lot tonight!

  Murdo leaned back in his chair, smiling like a side of juicy dripping beef facing a concentration-camp survivor beyond a wall of barbed wire.

  That Amie.

  He hefted a golden wine goblet and shot me a merciful wink where he sat next to me.

  Gads, how he fit into the medieval picture. He must have been a SCAer. Crazy. And he's winking little messages. That's almost as nice when he recites poetry.

  The duke grinned at the end of the table beside Murdo and made eye contact with me.

  Look away. I managed not to roll my eyes.

  "Lady Innis," Ronat called. "What did you discover on this grand journey you took around Scotland?" His dark eyes glinted as if he knew about Mr. Boots.

  Hell.

  The room fell silent.

  A tartan-draped woman emerged from beyond the candelabra with a platter of steaming meat.

  But her entrance couldn't have been what snuffed the noise in the enormous space.

  Murdo placed his cup on the table and smacked his lips. "She was hounded by a ghost beneath South Bridge."

  What? Great. Mr. Boots planned to haunt me forever. So, nobody's perfect.

  The duke gasped, pushing back into the crook of his chair. "In the Vaults? And who was this assailant?"

  Now to feed the ribbing fire into a raging bonfire. Inhaling, I tried to appear happy to apprise. "A most impish Mr. Boots."

  "And did you also see this devil, Mr. McEwen?" The duke smoothed his dark moustache, waiting for Murdo's answer.

  Would Mr. Perfect admit he hadn't? All these people needed is more bizarre stuff to feed their kooky interests. And to add to their list of stuff to poke fun at. I peered down the long length of the bedecked banquet table to see who would say what and how it would pan out in my corner.