by Lynn Kurland
It was a blatant challenge and he knew it, but he wasn't going to pass it up. He tossed her the Range Rover keys, then paused at the front door while she continued on down the steps. He looked out over his bailey and could hardly believe he was back in the same place he'd left eight hundred years earlier, only now he had all the modern conveniences. Not that it would have mattered to him, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. His title, his keep, and his wife all in the same time period. It was too good to be true.
And Falconberg was certainly close enough for frequent visits with Jamie and Elizabeth. Alex suspected Joel might go into serious withdrawals if he couldn't fondle the Claymore at least every couple of months. And heaven help him if he couldn't get Baldric and Joshua together often for more of their brainstorming sessions. Alex wasn't sure the twentieth century was quite ready for a book collaboration by the two of them, but he didn't dare stand in their way. No, living this close to his baby sister and her family was truly a blessing, and one he wouldn't ever take for granted.
He watched Margaret dig in the back of the car, then saw her pull out two swords. He smiled at the sight of her, her hair in a braid down her back, striding toward him in jeans and boots, looking for all the world as if she'd always worn such clothes.
She tossed his sword at him, then drew hers, holding it up to the sun and watching the light flicker over the blade.
A woman in jeans and boots who could outfight any man in her century or his.
Except him, of course. But he wouldn't remind her of that too often. She might prove him wrong more times than his ego could take.
"Thinking of flowers to plant?" she asked sweetly. "Pansies, perhaps?"
He grinned at her. ''You're just itching for a fight, aren't you?"
"Just don't miss your mark. These are my favorite jeans."
"Well, at least they're yours for a change."
She stuck her nose into the air, turned and strode off to the lists. Alex followed more slowly, enjoying the view and the anticipation of what was to come. How in the world had he ever deserved her? What had he done to merit the joy of her laughter, the strength of her convictions, the depth of her love? It was worth every moment of uncertainty, every moment of wanting but not having her, every moment of waiting for her to come into his life. He didn't deserve her, but he wasn't going to argue the point.
"Finished daydreaming?" she taunted.
He threw back his head and laughed for the sheer joy of it.
By the saints, what a woman!
The End
