Time Travel Romances Boxed Set (20 page)

Ah, so there was more than himself and
Julian benefiting from Elizabeth’s culinary efforts.

“
Really, Elizabeth, this is
plenty. I don’t even know that I’ll be able to finish
this.”

She leaned closer and twisted her hands in
her apron as her voice dropped. “Mr. Beauforte, are you feeling
well? It’s not right and proper for a man to be greeting the
morning without an appetite. Talorc, now, he’ll eat twice this and
then some if I don’t put a stop to it!”

It looked like Baird was going to need an
excuse.

“
Well, to tell the truth, I
didn’t sleep well last night,” he confessed and Elizabeth clucked
her tongue.

“
I’ve just the thing for
you, Mr. Beauforte!” She bustled back to the nook where her
hotplate and toaster were rigged up and emerged victorious with a
small jar. “Some of my sister Mary’s marmalade will have you set
straight in no time.”

The marmalade jar in question landed on the
table with a thump.

“
Now, Mr. Beauforte, if you
don’t mind me saying so, tonight as when you go to bed, you take a
bit of Mary’s marmalade and you drop into a wee dram of
whisky.”

The thought made Baird’s stomach roar an
objection, but Elizabeth nodded sagely at his glance. “You try it,
sir, and mark my word, in the morning, you’ll be fit as a
fiddle.”

Baird couldn’t help but wonder what Mary put
in her marmalade.

“
Fit as a fiddle?” Talorc
echoed cheerfully from the doorway. “Elizabeth, are you advising
folks to be destroying good Scottish whisky again? How many times
have I been telling you that’s blasphemy? Trust a woman to be
spoiling the only decent pleasure left to a man!”

Elizabeth straightened and fired a scowl
across the room that would have sent a lesser man running for
cover. Talorc puffed up his chest and glared back at her, his blue
eyes twinkling merrily.

Not only were they both disgustingly morning
people, but the pair of them obviously loved to spar.

“
Talorc! If you’re thinking
that you can sniff around my skirts and get yourself another
breakfast, then you’ve another think coming, sir! Off with you and
see to Mr. Beauforte’s hedgerows. Mr. Beauforte isn’t paying you to
eat every speck of food in his larder. Go on! Go on with
you!”

When Talorc took a tentative step towards
the kitchen nook, Elizabeth let loose a cry of protest. She
snatched up her broom and chased Talorc back out into the
foyer.

“
Talorc Sinclair, you’re no
better than a stray hound, coming into my kitchen begging for
scraps…”

Baird shook his head and grimaced as he took
another swig of coffee. The eggs weren’t going anywhere without his
help.

What he wouldn’t give for a decent cup of
coffee. Another fortifying sip and Baird picked up his fork.

Julian strolled into the room in full
sartorial splendor, his olive double-breasted suit accented
surprisingly well by his cardamom tie.

But despite his dapper dress, Julian looked
how Baird felt.

“
Oh, my head,” he groaned.
“Have you got any aspirin?”

Baird touched his knife to the marmalade
jar. “That’s the only cure-all around.”

“
Jam. Processed sugar. That
stuff will kill you.” Julian dropped into a chair and eyed Baird’s
plate with a grimace. “Looks like you’ve got everything but the
squeal.”

“
Careful, careful,” Baird
wagged his knife at his friend, immeasurably pleased to find that
he wasn’t suffering alone. “If Elizabeth sees you, she’ll be
loading up the frying pan.”

Julian shuddered. “Won’t she just. Why can’t
the woman understand the simple fact that I’m a vegetarian?”

“
It’s unnatural, laddie.”
Baird tried his Scottish accent, but it was as bad as ever. They
both winced, then Baird poked his fork at his legal counsel. “She’s
trying to convert you. Or save you.”

“
And not successfully
either way. There’s enough grease on that plate to lube a midsize
car.”

“
It’s not that bad.” Two
slices of something dark lurked beside the eggs. Baird couldn’t
guess what it was, resolved it was some kind of sausage, and cut a
slice.

Definitely sausage.

And kind of good. Baird cut another
slice.

“
Ooooh, Mr. Preston! There
you are, looking as splendid as ever, our gentleman from Savile
Row!” Elizabeth beamed from the doorway, her hands rubbing together
in anticipation of more cooking to be done. “Will you be having
eggs and sausages? The butcher has brought us some lovely haggis
this morning.”

Baird froze mid-chew, suddenly certain of
what he was eating.

His gaze flicked to Julian, who was not
hiding his laughter very successfully. “And how is the haggis this
morning, Mr. Beauforte?” he asked wickedly.

*

Baird wasn’t quite so badly impaired that he
would miss such an opening.

“
Very, very good,” he said
enthusiastically, then turned to their expectant cook. “You know,
Elizabeth, I’m certain that Julian would just love this haggis. We
might make a meat-eater of him yet!”

“
Oh, truly!” Elizabeth
smiled with delight at the prospect. “It’ll just be a moment, Mr.
Julian! You stay right there!”

“
I only want coffee!”
Julian wailed as she disappeared into her nook. He glared at Baird.
“You get to eat the haggis.”

“
Mmm, are you sure?” Baird
granted his friend a knowing look. “If I eat yours, she’ll be
convinced that you loved it.”

“
And if I don’t touch it,
she’ll be insulted.” Julian gritted his teeth. “Thank you very
much.”

“
What are friends for?”
Baird was feeling much livelier as he refilled his coffee
cup.

Elizabeth trotted back to the table with a
cup and saucer and a second steaming thermos of coffee. One thing
she had learned about “her Americans” was their need for copious
quantities of caffeine.

Regardless of its quality. Julian rolled his
eyes and poured as Elizabeth trotted away.

“
She’s in her element,”
Baird whispered with a wink.

“
Like I wasn’t last night.
Guess I lost that bet, hmmm?” Julian took a swig of coffee as Baird
nodded.

“
Oh yeah.”

“
Well, the consolation
prize will be seeing the state of your princess this morning,” the
lawyer said grimly. “If we even see her at all.”

“
I bet you
will.”

Julian fired a dark glance at Baird. “No
more bets, at least until I get rid of the hangover.”

“
Don’t underestimate her.
She wasn’t very drunk when she went to bed.”

“
Mmm. All that vile pizza
probably soaked up the booze. Or she’s got a cast-iron gut.” Julian
shrugged and took a sip of his coffee. “Too bad you can’t say as
much for her sanity.”

Baird frowned, unable to explain his desire
to defend this woman who thought so little of his character. “She’s
had a shock, apparently from losing her father.”

“
She’s wacko.” Julian waved
his cup for emphasis.

“
I don’t think so.” Baird
frowned. “It’s all very logical, if you start from her
premise.”

“
Which would
be?”

“
That she’s the daughter of
Hekod the Fifth.”

“
That would be Hekod the
Fifth, King of Dunhelm and Lord of Fyordskar.” Julian grimaced.
“Nobody I’ve ever heard of.”

Baird indicated the book Talorc had leant
him with one finger. “Hekod was an eighth century Viking who
conquered Dunhelm and married a Pictish woman.”

Julian’s glance slid to the book, then
swivelled back to Baird. “You don’t see any logical problems with
her thinking her father is over a thousand years old?”

Baird shrugged. “If you start from the
premise, her behavior makes sense. The clothing, her not
understanding the taps in her room, not knowing what wine or pizza
is. It’s all logical - an eighth century person wouldn’t understand
these things.”

Julian leaned forward and his eyes gleamed.
“An eighth century person would be really, really dead by now.”

Baird grinned despite himself. “I know, I
know, she’s not an eighth century person, obviously, but she thinks
she is, and everything she does follows from that.”

Julian looked skeptical. He coughed. “I hate
to spoil this theory that Aurelia is perfectly sane except for one
comparatively minor delusion -” he widened his eyes to show his
judgment of that “- but only a lunatic would accept the premise
that they were actually over a thousand years old.”

Baird stabbed a sausage. “Yeah, well, there
is a little glitch in the system there. She and her father must
have been really close. I wish we could help her somehow.”

“
A little good PR for the
grand opening?”

Baird scowled. “This has nothing to do with
PR.”

“
Wow!” Julian shook his
head. “I must be hungover. That sounded like the second time in
less than a day that you’d said ‘forget PR’. What’s that now, twice
in your life?”

“
Laugh if you want,” Baird
growled. “She needs someone.”

“
Doesn’t have to be
you.”

Baird frowned, not liking the idea of anyone
else helping Aurelia, though he couldn’t explain why to his own
satisfaction. “Dunhelm is my property, which makes this my
responsibility.”

“
And never was there a
nobler impulse.” Julian drank his coffee thoughtfully. “She
certainly is entertaining, I’ll give you that. I’d pay good money
to see her bait Marissa again.”

Baird fired a glance at his legal counsel.
“You two really have to get over that.”

Julian’s answering glare was just as sharp.
“Well, I don’t see that happening before you get married to someone
else and put an end to Marissa’s ambitions.”

Baird felt his expression turn sour at
another mention of marriage so soon after his nightmare. “Marriage
is not an agenda item. You know that.”

“
Then, neither is Marissa
and I settling our differences.”

Before Baird could comment, Elizabeth gasped
from behind them. “Oh, and who might this little Gemdelovely
be?”

Baird choked on his haggis. His fork
clattered to the table as he spun in shock.

It was Aurelia, of course.

Baird’s heart thumped. Aurelia was dressed
the same way as the night before, although this time her hair hung
in one long braid down her back. She looked disgustingly
well-rested.

“
Bright-eyed and
bushy-tailed,” Baird muttered.

“
Fourth foster
mother?”

“
Fifth.”

“
Mmm. Mrs. Morning
Sunshine, didn’t you call her?” Julian drank deeply of his
coffee.

Didn’t it just figure that Aurelia showed no
ill effects after the night before? Baird forced himself to turn
back to his breakfast, retrieved his fork, and determinedly ignored
Julian’s obvious inquisitiveness about his response.

“
Good morning. But my name
is Aurelia, not Gemdelovely.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Oh, lass, that’s what we
call all the pretty lasses up thisaway. On account of the story, as
you know.”

“
The story?”

Baird’s ears pricked with curiosity but he
wasn’t going to turn around again. He ploughed through his eggs
with purpose.

“
Oh, you’ll have to be
having one of the old ones tell the tale, for they know it best.”
Elizabeth rubbed her hands together in anticipation. “Aurelia! Such
a lovely name! Could I be getting you a wee breakfast,
lass?”

“
Yes, please! I am quite
hungry.”

Hungry? Baird met Julian’s astonished gaze
across the table, certain his own was just as surprised.

“
She must have a tapeworm,”
Julian declared and buried his nose in his coffee cup. Baird
chuckled mid-sip at the unexpected conclusion and snorted some of
his coffee.

“
Serves you right,” Julian
muttered unsympathetically. “Haggis.”

“
Well, then, lass, you’ll
be wanting a good hot bowl of oatmeal before your eggs. With bacon
or sausages or both? Would you like a bit of haggis?”

“
Must I choose?”

“
Of course not, lass,
there’s plenty to eat! There’s coffee on the table, lass, and I’ll
be right along. Don’t you fret, Mr. Preston, I’ve not forgotten
you!”

Elizabeth scampered away, quite beside
herself with excitement.

“
How’s your head?” Julian
asked wryly as Aurelia came to the table.

She blinked confusion at him and settled
into a seat. “My head?”

“
From the wine.”

Aurelia looked to Baird, her eyes wide. “I
do not understand.”

“
Oh no,” Baird winced at
the childishly high pitch of her voice and waved his fork at her
impatiently. “None of that today. You may be nuts, but we know
you’re not stupid.”

He pushed the plate away, the better part of
his breakfast untouched and growled into his coffee cup. “Don’t
play that game with me today, princess.”

Aurelia’s frown deepened and to Baird’s
relief, her voice lowered slightly. “But I still do not
understand.”

“
The wine!” Julian
confirmed expansively. “We drank a lot of it. We were drunk!
Falling down drunk. Doesn’t your head hurt? Mine is killing
me.”

“
You are a fragile sort for
a priest,” Aurelia said scathingly. “A sore head from fruit juice.”
She rolled her eyes, then examined Baird’s abandoned plate with
obvious interest. “Are you going to eat that?”