Alasdair clenched his fists when she didn’t respond. Morgan heard a murmur from the Japanese tourists, then the clicking of cameras turned on her and Alasdair.
Which reminded her that Alasdair didn’t photograph well.
He had to be from the past.
And she had to help him.
“Unleash me from your spell, Morgaine le Fee,” Alasdair demanded with obvious impatience. “Release me and send me home to my son.”
His son?
Morgan blinked, but he glared at her. Had she heard right? “You have a son?”
Alasdair’s expression turned ominous. “Already I have told you that there’s naught amiss beneath my plaid.” He shook a finger at her. “But do not be thinking that I will stand by and let you seize him for your own. I will fight you for my son with every last fiber of my being, make no mistake about that.”
His fierce protectiveness of his child warmed Morgan to her toes. But all the same, this shouting had to stop. She held up her hands in a peaceful gesture and slowly walked toward him, trying to remember every hostage movie she’d ever seen.
“I don’t want your son,” she said in a low, even voice, making sure she maintained eye contact with Alasdair. “And I really do want to help you get home.”
Some of the tension eased out of his shoulders. His eyes were still narrowed slightly with suspicion. “Aye?”
“Aye,” Morgan agreed and smiled. She stopped before him and tilted her head up to hold his gaze. “I promise you that.”
Alasdair sniffed. “Is your word worth so little as your advisor’s pledge?”
“No. I keep my word.”
His lips thinned as though he believed her but wished he didn’t. Alasdair folded his arms across his chest and his expression turned stubborn. “Swear it to me, then.”
“I swear to you, Alasdair MacAulay, that I will do everything I can to send you home,” Morgan vowed softly. “Wherever – and whenever – that is.”
Alasdair eyed her carefully and Morgan felt some of his resistance dissolve. Then he arched a fair brow. “Whenever?”
Morgan frowned as she tried to think of how to begin, then she looped her arm through his. “It’s kind of a long story,” she confessed, urging him to walk toward the inn.
To her relief, he fell into step beside her.
“And I have an idea that you might want one of those wee drams to make it all go down a little easier.”
Despite everything Morgan had against alcohol, this was one time when she couldn’t have blamed anyone for having a drink to dull the shock.
In fact, if she was right and Alasdair had skipped through the better part of seven centuries in the blink of an eye – never mind leaving a child far behind – she wouldn’t blame him for getting stinking drunk.
Morgan’s heart contracted with a compassion of frightening intensity.
Surely she was only worried about a little boy, left alone?
Surely. There couldn’t be any other reason. Morgan knew that she didn’t need – or want – any man in her life, especially one who was more lost than she had ever managed to be.
Obviously, she just felt sorry for Alasdair’s son.
It couldn’t be any more than that.
*
Alasdair fingered the dram of whisky that had been placed before him and studied the sorceress. ’Twas unsettling how somber she had become. What was amiss?
He did not drink the spirits, fairly certain that if matters were as dire as her expression suggested, he might need it more once she had had her say.
Was she going to tell him that he could never go home? Alasdair’s gut went very cold at the very thought. Was it because of some deficiency in her power? Or the terms of the witch’s spell that had sent him here? Had he failed a test?
Or was she simply unwilling to release him?
Morgaine pushed her glass of water across the table, making circles with the wet mark it left on the wood. Playing she was, as though she knew not where to begin.
And it was driving him mad.
Alasdair captured her glass with one resolute gesture. When his fingers closed over hers, Morgaine met his gaze with obvious reluctance.
“Tell me,” he urged in a low voice. “Tell me the worst of it.”
The lady licked her lips and looked from one side to the other before she began. “It’s not good,” she admitted, such a vision of maidenly softness that Alasdair actually longed to reassure her.
Her fingers trembled slightly beneath his grip, and Alasdair gave them a squeeze before he could stop himself. “’Tis true that tidings are always worse before the telling. Giving voice to the worst lessens its bite.”
“You’re probably right. And there’s no point beating around the bush.” She smiled sadly, then squared her shoulders. “Alasdair, where do you think you are?”
Alasdair sensed a trick, but her expression was guileless. “In your domain.”
“Which is where?”
Would he earn some loathsome fate by giving voice to such names? Alasdair’s mouth went dry, but he forced out the words.
He would balk before naught. “In the land of Faerie.”
“And that would make me who?”
“The sorceress Morgaine le Fee.”
She shook her head slowly, and Alasdair feared he had erred in naming her occupation so boldly.
But before he could apologize, Morgaine took his hand in the two of hers and looked deeply into his eyes. Alasdair knew ’twould be fair dreadful whatever she meant to say. He braced himself against the worst calamity.
But he could never have prepared himself for what she did say.
“Alasdair, you’re wrong. I’m not Morgaine le Fee and this isn’t the land of Faerie.”
She was deadly serious. A cold tremor of fear rolled over Alasdair’s flesh.
What was this?
“You’ve traveled almost seven hundred years into the future, I don’t know how.” The sorceress gave his fingers a squeeze, her expression now turning apologetic. For a fleeting instant, Alasdair was almost fooled by the sincerity in her steady green gaze.
It he was not in Faerie, then where could he be?
“I can’t explain it, Alasdair, but the year is 1998, and I’m guessing that you think it’s a good bit earlier than that.” She stared deeply into his eyes as he slowly absorbed what she had said.
1998?
But that could not be. The sorceress held his gaze, as though she would will him to believe her.
’Twas impossible! Alasdair blinked. Indeed, ’twas such a daft load of bunk that his lips twitched. ’Twas a jest, no more than that. Or a test of his gullibility.
And one he had nearly failed.
Nearly fooled him, Morgaine had. Traveling through time – stuff and nonsense! ’Twas beyond belief. As though the world could have turned to such a hellhole, even in seven hundred years.
Alasdair grinned.
Morgaine did not smile. Instead her expression became concerned. “You have to believe me,” she insisted. Aye, she was a clever one, to stick so firmly to her lie.
But the way he had fallen prey to her allusions of doom was so perfect that Alasdair chuckled. What a daftie he was.
Aye, he had fallen like a witless rock for her jest. He, Alasdair MacAulay, who was broadly considered to be a man of good sense, had nearly swallowed Morgaine’s feckless tale whole! How the lads would mock him for this.
Beneath the sorceress’s astonished gaze, Alasdair began to laugh and could not stop.
*
Chapter Nine
Oh, she had led him on beautifully, teasing him with imports of doom, when she meant to make a joke! The more Alasdair thought about it, the harder he laughed.
And ’twas so good to feel laughter rippling through him again that he did not want to stop. An errant tear trickled from the corner of his eye.
But the sorceress stared at him. “Alasdair, you don’t understand.” Her words were emphatic. “My name is Morgan La
fayette. I’m a book illustrator. I’m not a dark queen, or even an enchantress.”
The intensity of her manner captured Alasdair’s attention more securely than anything else could have done. His eyes narrowed in consideration and his laughter came to an abrupt halt.
Why did she deny her own identity?
Why would a sorceress want him to believe she was not her powerful self? There could be no import of good in this.
Had Morgaine decided not to aid him in returning home? A cold weight settled in Alasdair’s belly. Had her advisors decided his cause was not worth the trouble?
Morgaine shook her head, her green eyes filled with concern. “And that’s not the worst of it, Alasdair. Your coming forward in time has somehow changed the past.” She toyed with the glass again and his gut clenched at the sight of her distress, despite his certainty she toyed with him, as well.
She grimaced. “And I don’t know how to fix it.”
Those words recalled him to the truth.
’Twas a lie! Morgaine le Fee could repair any matter, that much Alasdair knew without doubt. Her dark powers were boundless and far-reaching, as any laddie learned at his gran’s knee.
Morgaine could only have chosen not to aid him, but had not the audacity to tell him flatly as much. Alasdair could not guess what he had done to earn her disfavor.
Indeed, he had made efforts to accommodate himself to the vagaries of her world! And he had been gracious beyond all! Alasdair’s annoyance rose a notch - not unlike many another mortal who strayed into the world of the unseen, his cause had been poorly served. Certainly, he had not had any fair hearing in Morgaine’s court.
But his anger would serve him poorly in this matter. Alasdair fought to control his response, very aware of the sorceress’s gaze locked upon him. Could she read his rebellious thoughts? Were those thoughts what had wrought his doom?
He did not know.
And worse, he did not know what to say.
Alasdair clenched the wee pewter cup of whisky, feeling in dire need of its consolation. Suddenly, he wondered whether there was significance in Morgaine’s choice of water.
Was this another game?
Was there aught awry with the whisky?
Alasdair cleared his throat, as he considered flinging the dram against the wall. Would it leave a trail of flames there?
But when he spoke, his words were icily polite. “You do not join me?”
“I don’t drink,” Morgaine declared with a toss of her hair.
It was loose since their adventure in the car, a great tangle of ebony witchery behind her shoulders, and Alasdair suddenly feared what she might do to him. There was no telling what a wee witch with her locks trailing loose might conjure, and Morgaine had powers far beyond such mortals who commanded only a fraction of her abilities.
Alasdair recalled well enough Morgaine’s displeasure that he had been drinking before. He had the eerie sense there was something of import here that he was missing.
Alasdair arched a brow and watched Morgaine’s response carefully. “It sounds a matter of principle with you.”
Her lips tightened and she took a quick breath. “It is,” she said fiercely.
“Why?”
Morgaine was clearly discomfited by his soft question. Her full lips tightened and she looked away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
But Alasdair knew that he was hot on a trail that could lead to his salvation. ’Twould be good indeed to have some understanding of the enchantress’s thinking.
“But I do, my lady,” Alasdair insisted quietly. He leaned forward, trying to compel her to meet his gaze. “I would know what troubles you and why.”
Twin spots of color burned brightly in her cheeks. Morgaine looked from one side to the other, then impaled him with a determined glance. She took a quick breath and fairly bit out the words, apparently responding against her will.
“Because it changes people,” she said heatedly. “Drinking makes them act differently and do things they would never do otherwise. It makes them break promises and hurt people close to them.”
Morgaine choked on her next words, then shook her head and Alasdair he did not imagine the shimmer of tears in her magnificent eyes. “It ruins everything. Everything.”
She snatched up her glass and gulped at the water, but Alasdair was not fooled. He had seen these changes of which she spoke. In most folk, the whisky brought a lightheartedness, but there were those who turned dark when the whisky was in their belly.
’Twas clear enough the lady had experienced this.
“Aye,” he agreed carefully. “I have seen it make a docile man turn bloodthirsty.”
She pressed her lips tightly together and nodded.
“And I have seen that man hit his woman for no reason at all.”
Morgaine looked away.
And there was the meat of the matter, unless Alasdair missed his guess.
Well, he was not such a fool to alienate his Faerie hostess, particularly when she was already ill disposed to aiding him. And if the prospect of a man with whisky in his belly unsettled Morgaine, there was but one thing to be done.
Alasdair deliberately lifted the wee cup and set it on the edge of their table. Morgaine’s gaze brightened with interest, though she only flicked a glance at him.
The servant appeared in a flash. Something wrong with the whisky, sir?”
Alasdair shook his head, his gaze fixed determinedly on the sorceress. “Nay, there is naught amiss. My taste has but changed. Would you be so kind as to being me a vessel of water, as that of the lady?”
The servant sniffed and swept up the pewter cup, striding across the tavern in poor temper. No doubt he disapproved of the waste – though Alasdair was certain the whisky would not be cast on the ground.
And he only had eyes for Morgaine’s tentative smile. “You don’t have to do that,” she murmured, though there was a thread of delight in her tone that he had.
The sight of Morgaine’s pleasure with his choice emboldened Alasdair as naught else could have done. He could win her favor yet.
He would win her favor yet.
Aye, he had never been one to back down from a challenge – and Morgaine’s endorsement could be the greatest challenge that ever he faced.
But the prize was well worth the winning.
Alasdair abruptly recalled his gran’s certainty that Morgaine le Fee was one to grant favors to those mortals who shared her bed.
And Alasdair knew exactly where he was going to be, as soon as it could be managed. The very idea made his heart pound, though he was certain ’Twas only because his goal was in sight.
It seemed his first instinct had not been far wrong, after all.
“Aye, I do.” Alasdair leaned forward and captured Morgaine’s tiny hand within his own. Her fingers quivered ever so slightly, this minute sign of her awareness of him feeding his confidence in his new scheme.
Was it possible that he, a mere mortal, already held some sway over the tiny sorceress?
Alasdair stroked the back of her hand with his thumb and dared to stare directly into her eyes. “For I pledge to you this moment, my lady – as you have sworn to take me home – that I shall let no whisky touch my lips while yet I am in your domain.”
“It’s not my domain,” Morgaine protested, but ’twas clear she was pleased. There was no doubt of that, though she seemed embarrassed by his intensity as well. “Why would you do that?”
“Because you wish it to be so.”
“I never said that.”
Alasdair smiled slowly, noting how her defiance melted away. He dropped his voice to a seductive rumble. “Your eyes, my lady, did all the telling.”
And it was true. Even now, a heat lit their emerald depths, and Alasdair knew he had embarked well upon his quest. He remembered the sweet heat of her kiss and his loins tightened with enthusiasm.
Suddenly Alasdair wondered why he had been so intent upon winning the goodwill of her advisors and not that o
f the lady herself. As he stared into Morgaine’s eyes, he could not for the life of him think of a single reason.
Wanting only to see her smile fully again, he squeezed her hands and winked at her, then sat back to drank heartily of the water. ’Twas not half bad when ’twas cold like a mountain stream.
She liked tales. And Alasdair had a thousand of them. Should he need to sing them all to win his way between her thighs, ’twould not be too high a price to pay.
And if a day in this enchanted land made a year in the world of mortals, Alasdair had best begin his conquest now.
“I have a tale for you, my lady,” he said quietly and knew that only one would do. “’Tis a tale of the knight Tam Lin, a knight stolen away by the Faerie Queen but won back by his mortal love.”
“But we have to talk. You really need to believe me about this time thing…”
“There will be time enough for talking, but this be the time to see a fair lassie smile.” Before she could argue any more, Alasdair tapped his toe and began to sing.
Janet has kilted her green kirtle,
A little above her knee.
And she has snooded her yellow hair,
A little above her bree.
And she is to her father’s hall,
As fast as she can be.
Four and twenty ladies fair
Were playing at the ball.
And out then came the fair Janet,
One flower among them all.
Four and twenty ladies fair
Were playing at the chess.
And out then came the fair Janet,
As green as any glass.
The few other patrons of the tavern turned and lifted their glasses in silent toast to Alasdair’s tune. He nodded his acknowledgement and continued on, delighted to see a sparkle of interest in the lady’s eye.
Out then spake her father dear,
Time Travel Romances Boxed Set Page 50
