"Have a seat," Iona hummed behind me. The short woman slid a glass oven dish onto a metal trivet on the tabletop.
Potatoes. Golden chunks. Melt-in-your-mouth goodness. "Those potatoes never looked so delicious." I sank into the closest chair, licking my lips.
"Who's that expert in Edinburgh, Da?" Sticky Fingers asked.
Expert?
Sticky Fingers stared down his father.
What for? Like he meant to send a silent message. I turned to Uncle John.
A steaming bowl of orange carrots materialized beside him. Uncle John's eyebrows arched at his wife. His dancing eyes said more than nice carrots. He looked like he'd pinch Iona's derriere any second. But Uncle John was always a gentleman.
"Naysmith," Uncle John flicked his attention back to his son. "Edmond Naysmith. They've dealt in blades for centuries."
"The Englishman," Sticky Fingers nodded. "I have trouble remembering him. Isn't he a Freemason too?"
Uncle John shoveled a pile of carrot coins onto his white plate. One carrot rolled over the plate's edge and tumbled until bumping against his glass of water. "Aye. Aren't all Scots?"
Boring topic. Pass the bloody carrots.
My gut rumbled.
"Eat up, lass." Uncle John waved a fork at the basket of dinner rolls hidden under a dishtowel.
No problem. I thrust my fork into the mound of steaming meat resting in front of my plate and lifted body parts, searching for ribs. Freemasons, she-masons. Whatever. Time to eat.
Something hit my foot.
Murdo stared intently my direction.
"And the lodge? When is it meeting?" Sticky Fingers rambled.
Murdo's stare intensified as if he expected me to do something.
I tried to make my gaze ask what?
He sighed and turned back to the dish of roasted potatoes.
"The Brothers meet on the third Thursday each month. You know that to be so, John." Uncle John reached for the butter dish.
"Hm. Next week." Sticky Fingers speared a chunk of meat, shaking the juicy flesh free onto his plate. "Perhaps one of them will know what to do with the sword."
Anything is possible.
Uncle John beamed an optimistic smile at me. "We're certain to have the blade mended by then."
Murdo kicked my boot again.
Chewing. Gripping his fork and knife upright as if the implements could communicate for him. Walking a fine line. Rather, kicking one. But a inquiry would surely result in additional Sticky Fingers’ interest. Questions would have to wait. I scooped up a helping of potatoes and piled them upon my plate.
"I think I'll give Dolf a ring," Sticky Fingers braced his hands against the table, pushing his screeching chair backward.
"What?" Uncle John grunted with surprise.
Cousin John waved a dismissive palm, disappearing through the doorway.
"Where is John going?" Iona asked.
"To give Rudolph Gordon a ring." Uncle John pointed his knife at the wall. "Never fear. He'll be back, Mother. He's not one to miss a meal."
Murdo stabbed at a potato on his plate.
Looking upset. But we'll have to wait until later to discuss whatever bothered him in private.
****
The frothy suds towering over the dirty supper dishes in the kitchen sink sure looked like they'd burn this cut on my palm. I fisted my fingers protectively over the handfasting mark. Soap. So not good. But no pain. No gain. And there's no getting out of helping your auntie. I stuck my hand into the warm bubbly mass.
Murdo's worth the searing sting.
Water licked up my wrist.
"No. No." Plump soft Auntie hands clamped onto my arms and pulled me back from the water. "You go spend the evening with your husband." She pushed me toward the doorway and the hall.
Husband. What a nice title. And lovely sentiment from my aunt. But Iona needed help. I met the shorter woman's adamant gaze. "But I need to help you."
"Katie Innis." Iona's hands landed on her hips. "I've cooked and cleaned for three times as many people as I did tonight and never let a hand touch my dirty dishes. Dry your hands and go see to Murdo." Snatched the dishtowel from the counter and thrust the blue rag at me.
How does one argue with one's auntie? I dabbed the water from my hands and set off in search of Murdo.
The television blared in the living room. Uncle John's arm hung over the couch's armrest. He sat alone absorbing the evening news.
He shot me a smile.
"Where's Murdo?" I asked.
Uncle John scratched his gray hair behind his ear. "He's gone to shower." Waving at the chair, his mask turned grave. "Sit, lass. I wish to speak with you."
Anything to keep him from his obsession with the sword. I sank into the firm cushions.
Light from the television glinted in his eyes.
Who is he going to say? Did this have to do with the handfasting? Maybe he wants to get me alone to tell me. "Are you angry?"
Uncle John scooted to the edge of the sofa. "I want you to know I'm happy with your choice in Murdo McEwen."
If he only wished to note he favored Murdo, he wouldn't look so unyielding. Stern. I focused on his gray wiggling moustache.
"You must wait till your wedding night to share a room in the house," Uncle John finally said.
Heat scorched up my neck.
Oh. My. God. Not a sex lecture. Has he just said Murdo and I can eventually have sex under his roof? I blinked, licking my lips.
Uncle John patted my knee with one huge aged but warm hand. "He's got experience with smithing and has a skill with motors. He'll fit in nicely around here."
End of taboo subject. I hadn't even thought about what Murdo could do when we were…um, cohabitating. Perfect. Murdo doesn't have anywhere to go either. Okay, because of this time-travel story. Crazy as that may sound. I still wanted him here with me. And Uncle John seemed to. "So, you'll let him work with us?"
"Of course, lass. I'm no fool. The best workers always prove to be family." He winked. "They aren't as expensive." He waved toward the hall and smiled. "Go along then. See to him."
Certainly. I rose and dashed into the darker hallway for the stairs.
Iona grinned through the kitchen doorway.
Had she overheard? The truth was more likely wee Auntie Iona arranged the discussion. I took the steps two at a time and stopped at Murdo's open doorway.
His lamp lit the room in soft yellow light.
But didn't drive away the digging sound wafting from the room. God, if only he was nude. Around the corner. Pricelessly fashioned from organic bronze. "What are you doing?" I said, stepping through the doorway, just in case he happened to be naked.
Upsetting Uncle John now won't be wise.
I discovered a half-dressed man fumbling with numerous shirts in his closet.
"Katie?" Pulling out a red flannel shirt, he shot me a confused frown. "What is this?"
"It looks like Auntie Iona scrounged up some clothes for you."
He turned back to the clothing. "My kilt will do."
Dang, he's all Scot aside from the fact he's from the future, especially with his bare sculpted chest. And what those tight sweatpants had revealed. Bad thought. But I'd tease Murdo. "Personally, I can settle for either the kilt or the black pants you had on two nights ago. That red flannel shirt will look wonderful with your kilt. Men just don't wear kilts often enough in Scotland."
He watched me from the corner of his eye.
Was that suspicion? Or interest? We'd just see. I wrapped fingers around his iron arm, right above his elbow where the muscle bulged like he supported the world.
Not so off target. This time-traveler could be Atlas any day. A real mythological character right out of art history courses. I raised up onto tiptoes and whispered, "Black pants minus the sporran."
"Katie." He shook his arm and scowled. "Must you make things difficult for me with your guardians around?"
Who cares with that broad chest ready to pin me down? I t
ried to swallow a giggle, inhaling, taking in the musky clean smell of him. Sexy. Let's have sex ASAP. Boy. I've really got this anam cara thing plaguing me. "Sorry."
Murdo stepped toward the dresser as if he were annoyed.
"You should know," I said. "Uncle John says we can share a room after Auntie Iona's wedding ceremony. Then, you're to work at the foundry with the family."
"What?" Sticky Fingers skirled from the hall like bagpipes.
We spun to the doorway with a strange synchronized precision.
The bedroom's lamplight illuminated Sticky Finger's grimace in the dark hallway. "You're to work at the foundry too?" he crowed.
Cousin John really cornered the market on eavesdropping these days.
Three strides took Murdo to the dark door.
Sticky Fingers didn't budge.
Murdo grabbed the door's edge, slammed it, and turned back to me. "We must be careful around him."
"But--"
Before Katie could blink, Murdo towered overhead. "He overheard us today."
A lump lodged in my throat.
Not because Mr. Perfect's muscles are flinching either. That would be easy to deal with. "How can you be certain of that?" I mouthed.
"You're a wise lass, Katie McEwen." His hands snaked around my shoulders, drawing me into his hard warm chest.
Hugs are nice. Right where I want to be. Here. Palms against the hard expanse of muscle, sinking into his beating heart, and sniffing his succulent skin. Cinnamon. "God you smell like Red Hots." Candy. Hot candy. Yum.
His hand trailed up to tickle the back of my neck.. "What are Red Hots? "
The enthralling hum of his chest almost made me lick him for a taste. "Cinnamon candy." I laced my arms around his wide ribbed barrel, turning my face to his. "Do you know how wonderful you are, Murdo?"
A smile curled into his left cheek.
My heart dove into toes.
Well, got stuck where I didn't need to feel throbbing beneath Uncle John's roof until after the wedding. But Murdo's beaming face could make a girl forget logic. "And how adorable you are when you smile like that?"
"You like it?" he hummed with an arching brow, thrusting his arms into the flannel shirt.
"Uh-hm." I dared to bury my nose into the warming shirt covering his iron chest. "Way too much."
"Not from my perspective."
A knock rang out.
Trouble. I tore from Murdo's arms. "Uncle John." I pulled the door wide.
Uncle John smiled in the bright light of the hallway.
He'd chosen to turn on the hall light.
"Shall I clout my son over the head, Murdo McEwen?" His gaze begged an answer from Murdo.
"No," Murdo timbered from behind me. "He had it in his head that he was to marry Katie."
My gut flopped like a fish on a rock trying to hurl itself back into the river.
Never.
A whisper of fabric produced Murdo at my side.
"Did he now?" Uncle John rubbed a hand through his gray hair. "Well, he muddled his chance."
"I'd say," I piped. "To think I'd marry him after the way he treated me."
"Oh?" Uncle John's lips pursed beneath his curious gaze. "And what did my son do to you, lass?"
Lord. He'd kill John. He'd go to prison because of me. Gulping down my unruly stomach, I struggled to come up with something.
"He was a wee bit demanding," Murdo announced.
"Yes." I nodded like there was no tomorrow.
"You'll be happy to hear my demanding progeny has departed for the evening." Uncle John turned toward the stairs. "Perhaps he'll find solace in the arms of Mary Magee."
The world could only get so lucky.
****
After showering and donning the black pants my maiden adored, I was permitted to sit on the sofa with my soul mate. None too soon. Even if her uncle was in the room.
Big John leaned back in an over-sized upholstered chair. And Katie sat at my side. On a separate cushion. Touching probably isn't wise in front of the uncle. But, at least, she watched the movie. Thankfully, keeping her hands to herself. Not an easy task after the binding. I focused on the Highlander's grand house in the country of France on a story unfolding in the television's screen.
The man could have been a Jacobite descendant.
Now, the television is an interesting device. How the Centurians lived and died by the story stream in the box is a mystery. But I can understand how they'd grown accustomed to the twenty-first-century form of storytelling. Humans are so fond of stories. One would have to rely on the television since Druids were all but appreciated in this time.
What a Druid would do with some of these stories though. Especially one about immortal Highlanders. Now that made a Ring Master laugh. To think someone could live forever. Such fairy tales are what kept hope soaring though. Most likely, somebody caught wind of a Ring Master's colorful life history and misinterpreted Truth.
The patter of footsteps drew close in the doorway. "And would anyone care for another beer?" Iona asked.
"No, Mother. 'Tis time for bed." Uncle John squirmed in his squeaking chair.
Katie glanced at my dark brown beer bottle.
She probably couldn't see the flask was half-full.
"And you, Murdo?" Iona cooed.
So much for watching the Highlander grabbing his sword on the television.
Iona waited for an answer in her long pink housecoat. White slippers peeked out from beneath the hem.
"No ma'am," I answered.
Big John rose and unfolded at my side.
"Well, I'm up to bed then," Iona announced.
"Goodnight, Auntie. Goodnight, Uncle John," Katie lilted.
Some time alone with my wife without the elders around sounded wonderful. "Sleep well."
The phone trilled, cutting through the whir of automobiles from the television. Iona veered for the communicator. Big John stood still, waiting, turning back to story where the Highlander jumped from his car.
The scene was reminiscent of Uncle John and his driving. I'm not about to note that though.
A minute passed.
Iona burst back into the room. "John! John's not shown at Mary's." Iona grabbed her husband's elbow. "It's a quarter to ten. Something's wrong."
Big John's gaze contemplated the shadows behind the television for a moment. "You're right. He'd not miss a chance with a lass. I'll fetch my keys." The large man plowed through the doorway.
The man knew his son. Well, snake. But is there really anything to fear?
Iona followed. "He could be wrecked on the side of the road," her voice warbled.
"I know the way to Robert Magee's house. I'll find him, Mother," Big John boomed from the hallway.
Katie sat quietly.
Should I assist? I met her squared gaze. That can't be concern for her cousin. Something else bothered her. "What of it?"
Katie shrugged. A clash of swords jerked her attention back to the television where two Highlanders parried on a rooftop.
My gut twisted.
Something is wrong. Certainly related to Cousin John. And that had to correlate with my Ring Master sword. The stone-circle key is endangered. I hopped toward the doorway.
"Where are you going?" Katie blurted.
"With your uncle." I brushed against the doorframe, stepping into the dark hall.
"I'm going with you." The sofa squeaked.
She's safer with me anyway.
Chapter 21
The foundry's wall of swords and countertop held all but my time-travel key. Where is my Ring Master blade? Cousin John better not have taken the blade. I'd forever be known as the doomed Ring Master who failed to safeguard his sword.
Big John burst from the office doorway. "'Tis gone, Murdo." The man halted, shoulders falling in defeat. "I'm sorry, lad. My son has shamed me yet again."
"No," Katie hurried over to hug her uncle. "Sticky Fingers isn't that bad."
Uncle John went slant-eyed. "Don't lie for him. I
've known for years something was wrong with him."
She gulped. "I'm sorry. He just tried to kiss me too much. He's just frustrated. Jealous of Murdo."
"He's no good." Big John pushed Katie away from his side in an act of dejection.
She donned a straight-lipped smile and strode my direction.
"I've half a mind to kill him myself," Big John bellowed.
She flinched, but claimed a space beside me.
"I'll call the brothers." Big John pivoted on his heels and disappeared into the office.
Interesting term. "Brothers?" I asked.
"Probably some lodge group. Uncle John is into secret societies," she said.
Or the man knew what he's doing calling the Masons. The best solution is the Order's ancestral brotherhood. Secrecy. No one would leak a word of the sword outside of the group. "The Freemasons?"
"Of course. He's always meeting with them. I swear it's like they prefer to see each other than go home for a meal. Except Uncle John. He loves Iona more than anything."
Such Truth held true in history. And among soul mates. "'Tis the nature of the beast. The way of brotherhoods." I studied the brilliant round white moon peeking into the foundry doorway from the purples and grays of the night sky. "Brotherhoods are a place where a man can trust his friends infinitely."
****
The car whipped along a winding road, throwing me into the passenger door of Big John's terrestrial torpedo. Alas, there isn't any reason to worry about the sword any longer. Big John will kill us. The fairies will damn my soul from The Cycle. In what form would the Gods see to imprison me for this ultimate failure of duty? Not a vile Huldra. Anything but a nasty Icelandic fey.
"Please, Uncle John, slow down. You're going to kill us."
And sweet Katie begged futilely. Nothing could deter the shamed man.
Big John waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder at her where she sat in the backseat. "Och! There's no time."
Is there ever enough time? Big John has to be correct about his son's whereabouts. A Ring Master sword in the wrong hands is a novelty though. An anomaly to Centurians. They'd label it an extraterrestrial object by rationalizing with the most popular idea of the day. Then they'd try to hunt the Ring Master down. Where could I hide? Would I be able to take Katie along? I stared out the window at the oncoming grass flanking the road in the headlights' beam.
10 Timeless Heroes; A Time Travel Romance Boxed Set Page 104
