Time Travel Romances Boxed Set (54 page)

This time, she wasn’t going to screw it up.
Justine was going to fix this if it was the last thing she did.

“
You already bought her a
watch,” Blake commented with a shrug. “But it’s not much good if
she forgets to look at it.”

Justine paced the lobby of their
bed-and-breakfast, her mind going a mile a minute. “But what if
Alasdair gives up on us? You know he’s just perfect for Morgan,
don’t you? And he
likes
her!”

Justine ground her teeth when Blake –
cleverly – kept silent. “And she – if she would just give him a
chance – would like him, too. I just know it! There’s something
between them, I can feel it.”

“
How can you be sure? He’s
not much of a talker,” Blake dared to say. “I don’t think he said
two things today, just sipped his whisky, listened to
us
and
ate all the sausage rolls.”

“
Don’t you see?” Justine
demanded with exasperation. “He’s not the type to talk about
nothing!”

“
Ah.” Blake shoved his
hands into his pockets. “Why don’t you just give it a rest? Morgan
can find a guy on her own.”

“
But, Blake, she won’t. Not
after Matt – and that was all my fault. Can’t you see that I have
to…” Justine flung out her hands in frustration just as a
jingling bell announced the opening of the front door.

In the blink of an eye, Justine summoned a
warm, completely unfrazzled smile. Not for the first time, she
acknowledged that catering weddings was great practice for real
life.

“
Morgan!” she exclaimed
with delight. “We were wondering where you were.”

“
You weren’t in the
restaurant,” Morgan said without accusation. “I looked. And I
looked at Holyrood Palace and the hotel where you were going for
high tea.”

Blake blinked. “You found them all? All by
yourself?”

Morgan smiled. “Yes, I did. And almost on
time.”

“
Almost? Phew!” Blake wiped
imaginary sweat from his brow. “For a moment there, you had me
worried.”

Morgan smiled at his teasing, but Justine
ached that the amusement didn’t reach her sister’s eyes.

How long had it been since she’d heard
Morgan really laugh?

How long before Morgan forgot how? How long
could a giving person survive without having someone to give their
affection to – at least without drying up inside? Justine didn’t
want to find out.

She knew her matchmaking instincts were
right on the money with Alasdair. The guy looked like he had just
walked off the cover of one of those historical romances Morgan
loved to read. And he was so worried about keeping track of
her!

Justine looped her arm through her sister’s
and guided her toward the stairs. “We spent the afternoon with
Alasdair,” she said conversationally. “You know, he’s very
charming. But hurry up and change for dinner – we’ll tell you all
about it then.”

“
What’s the rush?” Morgan
asked with a trace of suspicion.

Justine silently cursed herself for
revealing her hand. “We have reservations, remember?”

Morgan flicked a look at her sister that
Justine chose to ignore. “No, I don’t, actually.”

“
Maybe I forgot to tell
you. Remember the place Blake’s boss recommended? Beside the Lyceum
Theatre? Well, we booked it for dinner tonight. It’s kind of fancy,
so wear the dress you brought.” Justine gave her sister an
unceremonious shove toward the stairs. “And hurry! We don’t want
them to give away our table.”

“
Yeah,” Blake concurred.
“Peter said it’s the best place to eat in town, and he’s a real
gourmand. Plus, I’m starving. Let’s go!”

To Justine’s relief, Morgan did as she was
told. Justine pivoted, so that her retreating little sister
couldn’t see her pleased expression, and winked boldly at
Blake.

Damn, she loved it when he helped move
things along. His boss wouldn’t know a four-star dinner if it was
labeled with flashing neon signs.

“
Liar,” she mouthed
silently, knowing her delight showed.

Blake smiled slowly, and the air in the
foyer heated right on cue. “Got a problem with that?” he murmured,
his eyes darkening.

Justine strolled across the floor, knowing
her husband was devouring every move. She leaned against him,
making sure he could feel the curve of her breasts, and she
stretched to roll her tongue in his ear.

Blake closed his eyes and shivered.

“
With luck, we’ll be back
nice and early,” Justine whispered, punctuating her words with a
kiss. “Morgan will be in very capable hands.”

Blake grinned wolfishly. “And so will
you.”

Justine could hardly wait.

*

All of Justine’s assurances that she would
bring Morgaine seemed worthless to Alasdair as he waited restlessly
at their assigned meeting spot. He paced in front of the glittering
building, well aware of the curious glances of all who passed.

They could not arrive quickly enough to suit
him.

This place dazzled him with its myriad
lights, never mind that those lights were without visible flames.
The glass that composed its wall was large and smooth beyond any
glass Alasdair had ever seen before – clearly a product of magic –
and he refused to look overlong upon it lest it bewitch him.

To be sure, he had enough troubles as it
was.

A fierce tapping upon the magical glass
brought Alasdair’s head up with a snap. A woman with very pale skin
smiled at him from the other side. Her eyelids were shaded purple;
her lips were the color of wine; her black dress clung to her
virtually nonexistent curves. She waved her fingertips playfully,
but Alasdair recognized dangerous temptation when he saw it.

She could only be the succubus that the
priest warned men to beware! Oho, Alasdair had heard tales aplenty
of these wraiths who came to men in the night, enslaving their
desire and drawing them forever into the depths of Faerie.

Nay! She would not make his entrapment
worse! Alasdair jumped back and she disappeared.

Unbeknownst to the highlander, it was the
change in the angle of the light that transformed the curtain of
glass into a massive mirror.

Alasdair saw only more magic at work.

He could scarcely marvel at this wizardry
before his own reflection dismissed all such thought from his mind.
That it was the clearest rendering of his own image that he had
ever seen was little consolation, for his curiosity was dismissed
by dismay.

Alasdair was filthy. There were no two ways
about it.

To be sure, the fount he knew at Mercat
Cross was replaced by a clogged replica that was a sorry excuse for
a source of water. None of the strangely attired inhabitants of
Morgaine’s world would point him to an alternative washing
place.

And he had dared not wander farther astray,
lest he not be able to find this place again. Morgaine’s kingdom
was fair confusing. To be sure, it mattered little how Alasdair
looked if he lost track of the only means of his return to the
world he knew.

He could not lose Morgaine, not at any
cost.

All the same, the truth was worse than he
had feared. Alasdair fingered four days’ growth of beard on his
chin and eyed the mark of another man’s blood on his chemise. His
golden hair was wild, his kilt was askew, and his boots were muddy.
A long scratch on his leg, earned during their scaling of the
mount, had closed but still sported a dried dribble of his own
blood.

He had no doubt that there was whisky
lingering on his breath. Aye, the bits of meat that Justine had
declared to be “lunch” had scarce been enough to sustain a man. His
belly complained mightily of its emptiness at that moment.

Nay, Alasdair was in no shape to court a
woman’s favor, particularly one who kept a fierce dragon as a
pet.

But what was he to do? He must remain here
and wait. Alasdair muttered a colorful curse and glowered at his
reflection before turning to pace anew.

How the lads would laugh if they saw him,
long reputed to be one who had a way with the ladies, turned
tapsal-teerie by a wee scrap of a woman!

And still she did not come. A thousand
worries crossed Alasdair’s mind, along with a thousand
possibilities of his own dire misfortune. How could he return home
if he had no chance to appeal to the queen of this domain
herself?

How could Justine have lied to him, when so
much was at stake? Could he have made some slip of the tongue this
day that had offended Morgaine’s advisors? He had been careful to
remain quiet, understanding so little of their chatter as he
had.

But ’twould have been easy to err and never
guess the truth. That did little to reassure the pacing
highlander.

Alasdair growled in dissatisfaction, pivoted
to pace the length of the glass wall again, and froze in his
tracks. Justine and Blake were stepping out of one of the black
horseless chariots that he had been seeing all day.

And Morgaine, radiant in a fitted and flared
kirtle, dismounted behind them.

Alasdair’s heart thumped. She had come,
garbed fetchingly in Faerie green.

Now all he had to do was figure out how to
win her favor. A hard lump rose in his throat. Any vestige of charm
he possessed disappeared like a morning mist burned away by the
sun.

“
Alasdair!” Justine
exclaimed, as though surprised to see him here. “What a delight to
see you again.”

“
You remember Morgan?”
Blake gestured to the tiny, perfect queen and winked slyly at
Alasdair.

They had warned him that this meeting would
have to look uncontrived. Endeavoring to appear pleased with a
chance encounter, Alasdair summoned his best smile and turned to
the lady in question.

Only to catch a flash of fear in her
eyes.

This was not good. All of Alasdair’s
comments in their first encounter tumbled into his mind, and he
feared that he had given grave offense in assuming the lady to be a
whore.

Oh, he was the most simple daftie ever to
draw a breath!

“
My lady Morgaine,”
Alasdair said as smoothly as he could.

The lady took a step back.

Suddenly Alasdair recalled how the lairds
greeted Robert the Bruce’s wife. The way to a woman’s approval, as
any man knew, lay in sweet words.

Though any compliments he granted this
sorceress would be far from insincere. Alasdair captured her hand
with a quick gesture, then bent low and kissed its back. The scent
of roses that emanated from her skin fed his highly inappropriate
desire. “Might I say you look lovely on this evening.”

Justine sighed and Alasdair dared to be
encouraged.

But Morgaine snatched her hand away. “Why
you…” she began.

Before the enchantress could finish whatever
she had intended to say, Justine intervened. “How wonderful to
cross paths again! What a small world. Alasdair, you’ll just have
to join us for dinner.”

“
Why, look, we’re almost
late for our reservation,” Blake declared with a glance at the
black band on his wrist.

Justine laughed lightly. “Maybe they can
find us a table for four. We’d better hurry inside.” She flashed a
meaningful look at Blake, who began herding them all toward the
restaurant like a brood of wayward chicks.

The entire transaction occurred so quickly
that Alasdair’s head fairly spun. They were accomplished at seeing
their objectives met, these two, and Alasdair felt a grudging
respect for the manner in which Justine kept her pledge.

Morgaine was clever to have such advisors
close to her.

“
Justine!” Morgaine
sputtered. “What are you doing?”

The advisor, to Alasdair’s surprise, slanted
a coy look at her monarch. “Just being friendly,” she responded
enigmatically.

Morgaine flushed scarlet, and Alasdair’s
heart melted at the sight. Had he ever had the good fortune to meet
a more entrancing woman? That her charms were wrought by magical
means did not seem to be pertinent – at least, not to one part of
his anatomy.

Blake ushered them into the restaurant,
where they lingered in the doorway, obviously awaiting some
attendant. By accident or design, Morgaine was directly beside
Alasdair. He could smell that bewitching blend of roses rising from
her very flesh.

This was his moment.

Alasdair gritted his teeth and cleared his
throat. “My lady Morgaine,” he murmured with a slight bow of his
head. “I must say what a great pleasure it is to enjoy your company
again.”

The lady fired a hostile glance in his
direction. “Don’t even pretend this is an accidental meeting. I
know Justine too well for that.”

Alasdair felt the back of his neck grow hot,
a sign of guilt if ever there was one.

But no one was going to aid him here.

Justine deliberately ignored her monarch’s
comment. Alasdair wondered how anyone could be so cavalier with her
own hide.

A man garbed in black, with a length of
linen inexplicably over his arm, chatted with Justine, nodded, then
led the way across the glittering hall.

Justine sailed across the floor in his wake,
Blake right behind her, and Alasdair seized the opportunity to
speak to the queen without her advisors listening.

He looked into Morgaine’s green eyes and
felt the pull of her enchantment. “I must admit,” he said quietly,
“that I greatly desired to see you once more.”

The lady’s lips thinned. “Look, I know what
you’ve done. And contrary to some people’s expectations, I’m not
that
desperate for a man.”

Alasdair was quite certain that she had
enough immortals at her beck and call to satisfy whatever desires
she had. “My lady, I must apologize for my earlier assumptions. As
you might understand, I was confused by what had occurred and fear
I did not present myself well. On this night, I wished only to
speak to you that I might present my plea…”